


No, but I do

by Melimelo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Everybody Lives, F/M, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Family Feels, Fluff and Angst, Jon Needs a Hug, Jon and Sansa Are Not Related, Sharing a Bed, StarkPack, The Proposal AU, The Starks are BAMF, loosely based on the movie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-15
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-08-24 04:43:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 28,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16633172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melimelo/pseuds/Melimelo
Summary: “But you are well aware Mr Snow, here, doesn’t have a Westerosi citizenship.”Sansa tried to sound as self-assured as she should, if everything was real and true about… this, “No, but I do.” She felt as if the rocks she had swallowed had started moving on their own in her stomach.Her boss tensed next to her, a movement missed by the Commander who sat across them and who would only see her boss’ carefully relaxed expression if he so much as bothered to look at him instead of her.“So the two of you are happily in love and plan to get married.”“Very much so!” Mr Snow sounded confident, as confident as he always sounded in every business meeting, as if it were no different.It’s not, she realized.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to this new ride, everybody!!
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters and basic-plot (even if there'll be changes) are not mine.  
> And English is not my first language, but I hope the mistakes will be scarce
> 
> Fair warning: Jon can seem to be a bit OOC at first. I rather think of him as being his ADWD-self (at least that's who he's supposed to be).  
> Fair warning n°2: It's been a looong time since I've written a modern AU.  
> Fair warning n°3: This chapter is supposed to be the prologue, but if I title it 'prologue', the 2nd chapter will be titled the 1st, the 3rd the 2nd etc and that would bother me in a way you can't imagine, dear reader. So for my mental sake, and despite what it _is_ , this "chapter" is named 'Chapter 1'

The first day of the rest of her life was a sunny one, warm without being suffocating and had begun as any other. She had woken with the first notes of her wake-up alarm, well-rested and with a smile on her lips at the prospect of finally taking her life back in her hands.

Today was to be her first day at AA, as the personal assistant of the marketing director, and Sansa was thrilled. Perhaps even more than when she had finally found the courage to hand over her resignation letter to her former DHR, with a not-so-much concealed threat that it would follow with a complaint filling for harassment should she not be able to leave without trouble.

Tyrion Lannister had quickly understood that she hadn’t been making empty threats, and she had been able to stop her contract at the Red Keep Corporation only two weeks after it had begun, and after one year of internship, without leaving a black mark on her resumé and with his _most sincere apologies, Miss Stark, for everything that happened. I believe we will truly miss you._

A few years ago, that would have made her think back on her actions and stay, but Sansa knew better, and she wasn’t going to be fooled a third time by the Lannisters. And so, in a last act of thumbing her nose at her former bosses, she had first applied for a job at their main competitor, AA. That had been two weeks ago, and, to her surprise, Sansa had been called back immediately after her interview and asked if she could start the following Monday.

Today.

Her fellow tramway travelers were looking at her funnily, not used at seeing someone beaming on an autumnal Monday morning, but Sansa couldn’t bring it in herself to care about it. Going to work had been a nightmare for more than a year, having to withstand Meryn Trant’s, the security guy, constant ogling, the sneaking remarks of Cersei Lannister and the lingering touches of Mr _call me Petyr_ Baelish, inter alia. She believed she well deserved some happiness at the thought of not feeling like a juicy piece of meat anymore when she was at work.

Even her neighbor, Tanda Stokeworth, an old lady living with her younger daughter on the flat across hers, had smiled at her, noticing the change. “You look lovely, this morning,” she had said, an undertone of surprise in her voice.

Sansa couldn’t blame the other woman for it, as it had been months since she had left her flat in the morning as well-dressed as she was today. Indeed, she had once foolishly thought that she only needed to be less “pretty”, and all her problems at the Red Keep to cease, and so had slowly stopped taking care of her appearance. Joffrey had stopped seeking her out, at least, immediately, but the others had continued. No matter what she had done, the others had continued.

But today was different, she reminded herself as she got ready to get off the tram. She wanted to look good again, and in front of her mirror this morning, the prim and proper Sansa had resurfaced. She had done her hair, put on make-up, slipped her personal lucky-ring-charm – that was in reality a gift from her friend Brienne – wore her favorite heels and chosen a dress – a dress! That stopped at her knee! To go to work! She felt she could be proud of herself – that she liked. Her confidence was boosted, helped by her mother’s quick call and her siblings’ texts of encouragement. Well, as boosted as it could be on a first day of work, she internally amended.

The walk between the tram stop and her new workplace was short by her standards – she had to climb an endless stair to get to the Red Keep, up and down and up and down every day, and sometimes several times a day, depending on the whims of her boss. She walked to one of the receptionists as soon as she entered, the one who wasn’t busy talking to the phone.

The woman in front of her looked younger than her, perhaps Arya or Bran’s age, though it was difficult to judge as most of her hair fell before her eyes and hide the left side of face.

“Hello?”

When the woman – the girl, really, Sansa wasn’t that much old – looked up, her lips turning to a welcome smile, Sansa immediately knew who she was. She wasn’t one for gossip – much – but even she had heard of the disease that marred half the face of Shireen Baratheon, the only daughter of AA’s director and founder.

“Hello, welcome to Azor Ahai company,” the girl said in a cheerful voice. “How may I be of help?”

“My name is Sansa Stark. I had an interview last week with Melisandre of Asshai and I was… hired. Obviously, since I’m here.” She laughed nervously, but the girl seemed not notice her awkwardness. Or, if she did, she made no remark of it, which showed that she was already way nicer than the receptionist at the Red Keep, a boy by the name of Lancel Lannister who had barely been older than Sansa but who didn’t have a bone of kindness in his body. “She asked me to be here at 9.” It was 8.45, she was fifteen minutes early, but the importance of punctuality had been a point her interviewer had emphasized quite a few times during their meeting. It didn’t bother Sansa, for she hated being late to any appointment – a quality she had inherited from her mother, according to her family.

“Right! Melisandre said you started today. Double welcome here, then, and double good luck, with Snow. I’m Shireen,” she extended her hand, which Sansa shook without hesitation.

“I’ll call her,” the other receptionist said, already pushing on the shortcut button. “You’re early, that’s why she’s not here yet.”

“It’s not a problem, I can wait,” Sansa assured her, but the receptionist dismissed it with a wave of her dainty hand. She tried to hide how her nervousness had peaked at the mere mention of her boss’ name. ‘Double good luck’, what could that possibly mean?

“It’s alright, don’t worry. It’s a good point for you, being early. I think that’s why the last one was fired. Officially. You never know, with Jon Snow,” Shireen confided.

Their chatter was cut down before Sansa could try to glean a bit more information on what exactly she meant by that, as a small man appeared, claiming he couldn’t find his badge this morning. Shireen immediately laughed, remarked that apparently this wasn’t the first time this happened, and told him that she would make him a one-day pass. Sansa didn’t hear anything more, because the head of human resources chose this moment to step in the hall, a smile forming on her very-red lips as her eyes found her.

Sansa nodded her thanks to the receptionists before following the red-headed woman in the elevator.

“Your desk is on the fourth floor. Do you remember where?”

Sansa nodded, having thought to note the details just after the interview, should she need them. Seeing the DHR’s relieved face and the glances she kept throwing to her watch, it had been a good idea.

“Great. I’ll take you to Mr Snow’s office, and you’ll see with him from there. This way,” she said, just as the doors opened.

Sansa hurried to keep up while trying to memorize the way from the elevator to her new boss’ office. All around them, the marketing division was buzzing with employees readying themselves to start their new day of work. She noticed that only a few chairs remained unoccupied, even though the day would start in ten minutes. Everyone seemed concentrated on their tasks, but the general environment seemed friendly enough. People weren’t looking at her as if they wanted to eat her, so that was something.

It eased some of her apprehension. She wanted that job, she had it. Now, from what she’d heard, Mr Snow seemed a little intimidating, but she had worked nearly a year as the personal assistant of Cersei Lannister, before she was moved under another division when Joffrey broke up with her, so she knew of _intimidation_. The woman had despised her from the moment she obtained her internship, courtesy of Robert Baratheon, the former director who had been her father’s best friend from the time they were children. She had been going out with their son, at the time, and it had been Joffrey who’d offered to speak with his father when she had been looking for an internship at the end of college.

The DHR knocked softly at the wooden door, creaking it open without waiting for an answer. Sansa tried to take a glimpse from where she was standing, behind her. She could see without problems across Melisandre of Asshai’s shoulder, who was smaller than her – and who would still be would Sansa wear flat shoes – but the inside of the office remained obstructed by the door.

She heard someone took a sharp intake of breath, sighing-growling “What is it?” when the DHR didn’t start speaking.

Sansa felt her heart start beating furiously against her ribcage as she busied her hands by smoothing them over her dress and brushing across her hair, checking none was out of place. She really wanted to make a good impression. She remembered her mother’s words of the morning, her father’s and siblings’ as she schooled a friendly smile on her features. It will be all right.

“Your new assistant is here.”

Sansa walked into the room when the DHR moved aside, trying not to notice the clear change in the other woman’s tone and the reason that could be behind it. I am just nervous, she amended to herself. And the receptionist’s off-comment hadn’t made things better. _Double good luck with him_ … It almost sounded as something Sansa could have said to the poor girl that took her former job. A warning of sort. ‘You’ll need it’ was the part that remained unspoken, but she had heard it none the same.

Sat behind his desk, her new boss was busy writing something quite forcefully on a small, paper-y, notebook, and hadn’t even glanced up in her direction.

The DHR made no comment of it, so Sansa supposed this was a normal occurrence. She felt her dreams of entertaining a friendly relationship with this new boss, in her new life, starting to wane. Jon Snow looked, well… He looked stern, austere and haughty.

“Good morning, sir,” she finally spoke up when Melisandre closed the door behind her. She smiled, her good manners returning. Besides, perhaps he was only shy? “My name is Sansa Stark. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” Brienne was shy, too, she reminded herself. And you only had to utter one word in a tone she would perceive as disdainful and it was over, she would stay closed like an oyster.

He finally looked at her once he had finished writing whatever it was that obviously annoyed him this much. But his face didn’t break with a smile. His jaw still set, his brows still furrowed and his gaze hard as he took her extended hand, shook it once and let her go immediately, never once returning her smile, nor her greeting. Gruffly, he muttered about a meeting with Alester Florent – who was the head of the finance department – instead, and that it would probably last all morning.

His attitude was throwing her off guard, so far it was from everything she had imagined. It made her wish she could dig a hole in the ground and hide in it, while she knew that she had done nothing to receive such a… a cold shoulder when they had just met seconds ago.

“Do you know what we do?” He asked as he stood up, and Sansa noticed with dread that she had perhaps five inches on him. Gods, she might still be taller than him without any heels. She tensed, a reflex, even if he still hadn’t noticed it yet.

Discreetly, she tried to flex her knees while vowing that she would go back to wearing only flat shoes at work. She so wanted everything to go swimmingly! She really wanted this job to work well for her!

The fact that this man already seemed to dislike her meant she already would need to work harder to make him interested enough in her to perhaps notice her potential, instead of simply proposing one idea and him being so enchanted with it that he’d burst in Stannis Baratheon’s office to demand a promotion for his wonderful assistant Sansa Stark.

Perhaps she really needed to stop fantasying so much.

“The company. Do you know?” Mr Snow asked again, this time bothering to look at her.

It took her a few seconds to remember what he was asking. “Yes! Of course, sir.” Great, she thought, now he must think I’m slow too.

He nodded once in acknowledgement and took three red, heavy-looking folders out. “Take that one, on top.”

Sansa did so and watched him leave the room, without looking back nor informing her what she was supposed to do with it. She stood awkwardly in her new boss’ office, not knowing what to make of the conversation that had just happened. On one hand, it had been very stilled and awkward on her part, but on the other, it had been very much ordinarily formal, if not a bit cold. But shyness, she needed to remember shyness.

A boss who didn’t leer at her or ask unwanted questions, wasn’t it the very reason she had left Red Keep Corp?

She didn’t need to be reminded of that, though.

“Is there a problem, miss Stark?” Mr Snow demanded, nearly growled really, annoyance and disappointment clear in his eyes that were, this once, looking at her. She was slowly discerning a pattern here.

She swallowed with difficulty, hoping she hadn’t just screwed her chance. “No, sir.” Whatever Jon Snow was, she judged, shy or cold or arrogant, it was still better than joblessness or, worse, having to go back to the Lannisters, her tail between her legs, and beg them to take her back. She couldn’t allow herself to be picky.

“Well, come on, then. Florent is not a very patient man.”

Sansa bite back a smile that threatened to show, for surely that would make Mr Snow only think his new assistant was mad and followed him. He couldn’t know that Cersei Lannister had never let her accompany her at meetings with anyone, under the pretense that an assistant had nothing to do there, and Mr Baelish worked in the finance department, which hadn’t been Sansa’s area of expertise at all.

On their way to Mr Florent, she observed him as he called out a name, not stopping to wait for the woman to catch up with him as he started to point out that she was _finally_ arriving and that, when the director called for a reunion and sent a personal mail to the employees he wanted to see attend, it was expected of said employee to answer it. The woman babbled an apology, looking on the verge of tears, but he dismissed her without a second glance.

She was forced to stop flexing her knees if she wanted to keep up with his quick strides, but he didn’t seem to notice it. Still, she would need to find flat shoes.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow *-* Thanks to everybody for the super nice feedback this prologue inspired!!  
> Since there's nothing better than that to find inspiration and motivation to write, here's the next chapter!
> 
> Enjoy!

**_Three years later_ **

She rushed through the doors of AA, the man’s in front of her good reflexes the only thing that prevented them from colliding and him been splashed by burning tea. “I’m so sorry!” she called out, not slowing one bit.

“Hi Sansa!” Shireen greeted from her receptionist desk. “Happy nameday!”

His assistant beamed at her before her eyes found his, and the smile died down. She scrambled to where he was standing, having gotten out of the elevator seconds ago to wait for her when she called him, informing him that there had been an incident on her tram and she would be late. “The first time since she’s been hired,” Melisandre had noted when he had come into her office without her, as if he needed the reminder.

“Good morning, Mr Snow. I am very sorry for being late,” she said between two breaths.

“You don’t plan on turning this into a habit, do you?” He asked, letting her know that he hadn’t bought her excuse about the tram. Davos took the same tram as she usually did, and he was here on time today. Lateness was a flaw harshly sanctioned in AA. The director, notably, despised it above nearly everything. If he had seen her barge into the hall like she just did, distracting his daughter as she was speaking on the phone… But, well, he hadn’t.

He signaled her to get quickly on the elevator. She choked on her tea, the tip of her ears turning a shade darker than her hair. “I’m sorry, sir, I celebrated my nameday yesterday and I-” she interrupted herself. “No, it won’t happened again.”

“That’s settled then.”

He saw the surprised look she threw him out of the corner of his eyes just before she walked out, but thankfully she made no comment, and the matter was forgotten. He figured he didn’t need to lecture her on the merit of punctuality – Miss Stark was smart, she would put one and one together on her own. Besides, they had other things to worry about, especially if she still wanted to talk about her project...

As they walked to his office for their usual recap of the beginning of the week, a few “Happy nameday Sansa!” were uttered from this and that spot of the large open space. Denys Redwyne even stopped her to ask if she still planned to eat with him for lunch, but one warning glare prevented him from asking where they would meet. “I’ll text you,” Miss Stark assured him, thanking every well-wisher with a smile before falling back into steps.

She had re-read Devan’s report during the week-end, as he had advised her to. Davos’ son was quickly growing into the good graces of Stannis Baratheon, and it would be absurd to discard the fact that he would probably become the next head of their exportations on the basis that he had… special convictions.

“I’ll make the last adjustments, and then come back to you with the final version. If that’s all, sir?”

“Yes, Miss Stark.” And on those words, she was gone, closing the door softly behind her.

He sighed deeply, the pain in his chest slightly receding as he absentmindedly listened to the fading click-click of her shoes on the floor, before he shook his head, pulled himself back on his task and started working. She handed him the final version of her latest project before midday, and he read it during his lunch break, pleasantly discovering that she had taken into account the remarks he had made concerning a few points of her precedent version and had therefore changed some paragraphs.

==--==

“So, Sansa, how does it feel to be twenty-five?” Denys Redwyne leaned across her desk at noon sharp, his face breaking in a large smile. “Older? More tired? Starting to get knee aches?” Denys was a year younger, and he never lost an occasion to remind her of that.

“None of that, I just feel wiser.” She followed him, glancing one last time at Mr Snow’s closed door. She had given him her project to read once more, and she hoped he would find it good, at last. He had given it back to her four times already, and at the last one, she had nearly burst into tears at the immense list of shortcomings he had found. She had worked non-stop all week-end, on this and Devan’s report, her only respite yesterday evening, when she had accepted Podrick’s invitation to go out for drinks and celebrate her nameday in advance – since it fell on a work day this year.

She wasn’t that much of a drinker, usually, but news of the impeding marriage between Joffrey Baratheon and Margaery Tyrell had called for sympathy shots on behalf of the woman who she had once considered her friend. She had come back to her flat at one in the morning, completely wasted, and had spent the next couple of hours mulling over her love life. Then, she hadn’t heard her wake-up alarm, and her boss had totally seen through her excuse for being late.

“Uh, uh. Wiser doesn’t mean grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy,” she protested, remembering his presence.

“You totally are!” That had the merit of making him laugh, at least.

They had chosen to go eat at a Volantis restaurant, which was a bit farther than their usual, standard Westerosi-restaurant, but so much nicer. Sansa had fallen in love with Volantis’ food since her brother introduced Talisa to the family, eight years ago, and she had made the best sweet beet soup Sansa has ever tasted. Shireen was already waiting for them at a table, having ordered their favorites. Dilesha, the waitress, greeted them in passing, as they settled down at their usual table.

“Do we do the presents now?” Shireen Baratheon asked, her voice brimming with excitement. She was studying law and working part time at her father’s firm. She had been the first person to talk to her, after her arrival at AA, and the two of them had became work-friends over the last three years.

“If you want,” she chuckled as the dark-haired girl immediately dived in her bag and handed her a small pouch.

Inside it was a wooden carving. “It’s a direwolf,” Shireen said, “or it’s supposed to be, at least.”

Sansa turned the animal in her hand, examining it to her heart’s content. “It’s beautiful,” she whispered, her voice quavering. _Gods, I’m not going to cry in the middle of a restaurant!_ She felt Denys squeeze her shoulder, trying to comfort her. Him and Shireen both knew how much she missed her family and how the separation was taking its toll on her.

She hadn’t been able to see her parents in a year, since her last nameday. It had fallen on a Sunday, last year, and her boss had been absent – for the first time ever, according to Shireen, and if that’s not lucky of you, I don’t know what could be – the day before, so she had been able to leave at the last minute for the week-end. Robb and Rickon had been there, too. She hadn’t seen her siblings all together since she left Winterfell, six years ago. Of course, there was the phone, and the texts, and Skype, but it simply wasn’t the same as hugging her parents and siblings, or as watching her niece grow up with her own eyes.

“He really is a dick,” Denys asserted, making Shireen nod in agreement. They all knew who the ‘he’ was referring to.

Even Dilesha pointed out, when she came with their dishes, that “He doesn’t deserve you crying over something he said.”

“He’s worse than that,” Sansa sighed and, as she had done those last years when she was with alone with them, she vented out her frustration. “Take this morning, for example. I was ten minutes late, _for the first time_ in three years. I called to warn him, and to apologize but still, he was waiting for me at the reception.”

“I saw him, yes!” They both agreed with her version.

“And I mean, I know I shouldn’t be late, that it’s unprofessional, but it was the first time! In three years, how many times have I arrived early, and immediately begun to work because, no matter how early I am, he’s always here first?”

“Lots of times,” Shireen said.

“And those times, he says nothing – because coming to work at dawn is obviously so normal.”

“To him, it is. That guy’s house is his desk.”

“But be ten seconds late,” she kept on as if Denys had not spoken, “and he’s nearly firing me on the spot!”

“Frankly, Sansa, I don’t know how you do to support him like you do. If I were forced to work with that guy, I’d tell him what’s on my mind, that’s for sure.”

She snorted derisively. “You wouldn’t be able to.” She kept silent on the real reasons between that statement. The whole floor knew that when Mr Snow was here, Denys Redwyne made himself scarce. “It’s not like he would actually listen to you in the first place.” She could swear that most of the time she was talking in a vacuum. “He didn’t even wish me a happy nameday,” she observed, disheartened. “That’s just basic human decency, no? We’ve been working together for three years.”

“He’s a dick.”

“I wish him his namedays.”

“And you’re a good person.”

“And he only…” Sighs. Flexes his right hand. Shakes his head. Says ‘Mr Baratheon wants to reschedule Tuesday’s reunion at 7’.

“Did you know that it’s because of him that we won’t have New Year parties?” Shireen suddenly cried out.

“We won’t?”

Shireen shook her head emphatically. “Nope. He convinced dad not to throw them.” That made them all sigh defeatedly. New Year’s parties at AA were the only moment of fun the firm set up in the year, and employees who asked it were given a leave of the week that was between them. “Melisandre wasn’t happy with it.”

The Head of Human Resources, Melisandre of Asshai, was a fervent believer of the faith of R’hollor, and thus those two feasts – parties, really – had been religiously respected since Sansa came here. She had attended all of them, since she had never been one of the lucky ones who were accorded a week of holiday between the two parties, surely because her boss, for his part, never asked for it.

At least she wouldn’t go through the torment of watching most of her colleagues not come to work while she was being stuck here.

She would need to warn her mother that she would miss Old Nan’s birthday this year too, she realized as tears sprung in her eyes. She had no idea when she would be able to go see them. She hurried to clean her plate, not paying any mind to Denys’ whine at seeing nine sleep-ins crumbling before his eyes.

The disheartened thought followed her all afternoon, and she dreaded the time when she would have to call her mother and inform her that her hopes had been crushed even before they could exist.

She turned off her laptop at 5 o’clock sharp and left immediately, without bothering to go ask Mr Snow if he had found the time to check her project.

What good would it be, anyway? Him and Mr Baratheon were impossible to impress; no matter how hard or how long she tried, she was certain that after three years, one only considered her a nuisance and the other wasn’t aware of her existence.

==--==

 _She’s not here_ , his mind supplied again at the sight of her empty chair and cleaned desk. He could feel the frown between his brows deepen as his brain struggled to associate what he was seeing with what it implied. He looked at his watch: 5.47.

Had she dropped at his office to tell him she was leaving for the day and he had just forgotten it? He had spent the afternoon trying to fix the mishap Val had made and had barely had time to even think to take breaths regularly, but it seemed unlikely that he would forget that.

It was also unlikely of Miss Stark to leave without checking with him, especially when he had her final version of her project on his desk, ready to show it to Stannis Baratheon, as she had wanted to. He had thought it best if she could give it to the director this evening, so that he could remind him to read it on the morrow, and then on the following day – for Stannis would surely forget – and she would be able to have it back next Monday. But since she wasn’t there, he supposed that was to be postponed.

He wondered if he should leave a note on her desk, reminding her how important it was to be noticed by the company director, if she wished one day to climb its ladder, but decided against it. She had taken her decision, well aware of what it implied, on a matter that wasn’t strictly professional. Their relation was purely professional, and therefore that was none of his business.

He turned on his feet, intending on going back to his post, only to find himself nearly crashing into another person, who was standing too close. He had to bite back a wince of pain at the feeling of the angle of a cardboard box unexpectedly hitting a sensitive spot on his chest.

Denys Redwyne stood before him, his big brown eyes widened in an almost comical expression and his mouth opening and closing without any sound coming out of it. “I-I’m s-so sorry, Mr Snow, sir,” he stammered after those few unsuccessful tries. His left hand scrambled to find a better hold of his paper-filled box, to no avail it appeared. “I-I hope I’m not bothering y-you. I, uh, you don’t have to leave on my account! I mean you can do whatever-” The other man called out in a shrieking voice as he nodded dismissively at him and fled to the privacy of his room, his teeth clenched.

As the pain receded, he was able to lose himself back in his work, trying to forget that his gaze was more often than not drawn to the pink folder.

He understood her way of thinking. Usually. She was smart, serious and professional; so why would she leave? That was dumbfounding. That folder contained what could – and probably would – become the first step of her career’s path, here. It was her chance of being noticed by the right person, after years of hard and dedicated work, and she wasn’t here to take it. That was something he couldn’t understand.

He knew that, when he had been in her shoes, he had been the first in line when his chance had happened. Stannis Baratheon had given him another opportunity, he had done his best, and here he was. Still standing, on his own, after starting from scratch again and again.

Someone knocked at the door and a few seconds later, Davos’ head appeared in the opening. “Still here?” The old man walked in, eyeing with barely concealed disapproval the state of his desk, before letting out a large puff of air. “I can’t say I’m mad that this day’s over! I feel my head’s about to explode from all those calls we’ve been receiving, those last hours.” Davos was the head of the production department, which had been the biggest casualty of Val’s mistake this afternoon, having to answer and explain every confused call coming from the whole firm about the message they had just received from the Marketing’s Second in Command. “Phew, anyway, that’s over. Poor Marya won’t have much company at dinner tonight, I’m afraid, with how exhausted we are.” Five of Davos and Marya’s sons worked in AA, under their father’s direction. “A shame. Well, at least we’re all going to be ravenous. She’s doing venison stew, I recall.”

He held back a sigh. It was starting to grow late, Davos was in his office; he knew it would come to that.

“What about you, mm? What do you have planned for dinner? You could come with me, give Marya some company. It’s been a long time since she saw you, she reminded me this morning. And, if there’s enough for nine, there’s enough for ten.”

“I’m no hungry.” His smile was a bit strained as tiredness was beginning to let itself known, but the lie fell easily from his lips. “But thanks.” Davos would think of inviting him, sometimes, under the misconception that this was something he expected of him. He had made the folly of accepting, once, and the following hours spent in awkward silence and stilted conversations had been more than enough to prevent him from intruding this perfect family picture again.

“Not hungry, mm?” Davos wasn’t convinced, but he won’t press the matter much. “A strong man like you, I don’t believe it. There’s eight o’ us at home, I know how it is. We’re always hungry.”

“I have to finish some things, before leaving.”

“Alright, alright, I won’t bother you anymore.” Davos shook his head, laughing under his breath, “You’re not making it any easy for me, boy. What I’m going to say to Marya, now? But don’t stay up here all night, alright?”

“Alright,” he conceded and, always true to his word, he left his office and his work only an hour after Davos did.

Night had fallen a few hours ago, and he allowed himself to privately relish in the lowering of temperatures. Winter was upon them, making the capital’s usual hot climate bearable.

Perhaps it was the reason he slowed down his steps, the sensation of not being slowly cooking under the sun for once not making him want to shed his skin aside and crawl off. He remembered Dareon mentioning-

He stopped this train of thoughts immediately, before the cold hand of better-forgotten memories could clutch at his throat.

Quickening his steps back to his usual stride, he walked straight to his flat, barely slowing down to pick up his mail, only stopping when he stepped inside. Surrounded by silence. Safe.

His eyes fell on the letter he still held and, desperate for a semblance of control back, he immediately opened it.

_The City Watch of King’s Landing informs Mr Aegon Targaryen that…_


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a new chapter! 100% POV Sansa this time  
> Enjoy!

“I know, mom, but there’s really nothing I can do. If I could, I would,” Sansa assured her, tucking her phone between her ear and her shoulder as she picked up her bag from the ground and got off the tram. “But I can’t very well leave my post for three days, in the middle of the week, without my boss’ consent. Not unless I want to throw away everything I’ve done those past years.”

Her mom’s voice sounded very faint, but Sansa couldn’t know if it was from her mother trying to conceal her growing frustration or simply bad communication. “No, no, of course not, dear. It’s only that all your brothers and Arya will be there, for the whole week, and we all wanted to see you, too.”

“I know.” This time, it was her voice that was faint, from the effort of not letting her tears fall in the middle of the street, during rush hour.

“You haven’t taken any holiday these past years, surely your superior could understand that you miss your family?”

He wouldn’t. “I have to hang up, mom,” she whispered as she neared the building. “I’ll ask him, though.”

“Yes, you do that. You’ve given him absolutely no reason to refuse.”

“Say hi to dad for me! Love you, mom,” Sansa said, not waiting for her mother to answer before hanging up.

Alyssa and Shireen were already at their post, even though it was still early in the morning. Being early herself and needing some cheering before starting her day, Sansa walked to them, a smile on her face.

“Hi Sansa! Ready for another day in hell?”

“You exaggerate as always,” Alyssa pointed out. She was trying to appear nonchalant, lazily twirling a lock of her red-dyed hair around her finger, but her voice held an edge that, from what she had told her, Shireen was well-acquainted with. “You’re just biased, is all.”

“She’s not,” Sansa said, taking off her handmade scarf. “You weren’t here those past days, it’s a nightmare. I’ve never seen him like that.”

“You’ve never seen Snow act that way? In years?” Shireen was eyeing her in puzzlement, as if she couldn’t believe a word Sansa had just said.

“I have,” she amended. “He’s my boss, of course I’ve seen him angry before. But never… never for so long.” _And never quite to that point…_ Mr Snow was standoffish most of the time, exasperated sometimes and incensed once or twice, but the worst of it had only lasted one day, at most. He had been in an execrable mood for two days non-stop, since Thursday morning, taking it out on everybody without distinction. Yesterday, Shireen had said she had seen Lester Morrigen walk off crying after something Mr Snow had said.

“He just has a bad week.” Alyssa waved her hand dismissively, and Sansa and Shireen exchanged a knowing look. The other girl had had a crush on Mr Snow since the day she had started working here. “It can happen to everybody. You two are so harsh on him that-”

“I’m not harsh on him!” Sansa protested.

“You definitely are.”

That’s what you think, but you’re also persuaded the sun shines out of his rear. She was dying to retort that but silenced herself instead. She was older, more mature than a crushing barely-out-of-adolescence girl. More so, she had been there too, once.

“Anyway,” Shireen intervened, sensing the conversation had lost its cheerfulness, “you won’t have to suffer if for much longer now…” She waggled her right eyebrow, a small satisfied smile tugging the corners of her lips up. Shireen liked most this precise moment, when she was about to drop the something she knew and the other person didn’t, and usually stretched it as much as she could.

Sansa scarcely prevented her from doing so, typically, but the start of her day was nearing closer by the second, and with it the end of the conversation. “Okay, just spit it out already.”

“He won’t be here next week!”

Sansa jerked her head up, feeling her face start to light up. If it was true… “You’re kidding me!” If it was true, then there was no reason she couldn’t take off her week, too! Find tickets to travel to Winterfell on Saturday, after work, and come back here on the following Sunday… It would be two journeys at night, but she could sleep in the plane and the bus. Or even if she didn’t sleep at all…

“Am not, I swear! He won’t be here for the whole week!”

A whole week… Eight days in Winterfell, with her whole family… For the first time in six years. It sounded too good to be true. Mr Snow had never been absent, not one day since she knew him. “How do you know that?” She asked, her voice straining with too much emotion.

“I have it on good authority, don’t worry. I overhead Davos and the Red Witch,” – which was the nickname Shireen had given Melisandre, her step-mother in everything but in name, since Mr Baratheon was still married to Shireen’s mother – “and uncle Alester complaining about Snow’s awful mood to dad. Davos said that he really needed time off, and dad agreed to it. He told them he would tell him about it as soon as he’d show up today which was… about an hour ago.”

“You’re amazing!” Sansa cried out as she started walking to the elevators. Mr Snow, required to take off a week on the director’s order, that was something! His own personal nameday gift to her, even if he didn’t know it. She was so deep in thoughts that she barely noticed Denys’ salute, or the dozens of mails that were waiting for her attention, so occupied she was at roughly planning her escape from her day-to-day routine.

She glanced up at the restroom mirror as she was washing her hands, a usually useful attempt at giving herself composure, to check her appearance before she walked straight to her boss’ office, not bothering to wait for his answer to her knocking.

Mr Snow was crouching near his personal storage cabinet, rummaging through the lowest drawer, his back to the door, muttering something under his breath that she couldn’t catch.

He didn’t make a move to indicate that he was aware of her presence, but then with him, Sansa was used to. Bother him in whatever it was that he was doing, especially for something he deemed not urgent – aka everything short of the apocalypse or a summon of Mr Baratheon, and you could be certain to be in for quite a bit of razzing. The best course of action was always to start talking between two distinct actions of his, unless he spoke to you first. As she waited, absentmindedly twisting the lucky ring she wore on her finger, leaning on his desk and trying to ignore the pile of folders on it or the fact that his shoulders were so tense his shirt did nothing to hide the movement of the muscles underneath and that…

Well that was a sight for sore eyes. And the gods knew how much hers were! she couldn’t help but comment to herself, quickly turning her eyes away, before her boss could notice her looking.

Sansa sighed internally. She really needed to start taking matters into her own hands regarding her personal life, because it appeared that ‘love will come when you’ll least expect it’ was as much a deception as everything else. She had always been a romantic, dreaming about a happy, loving marriage and children for as long as she could remember, there was no reason that she wouldn’t find someone that shared the same wants for their life. She was twenty-five now, and her last relationship had been more than two years ago!

All of her siblings were in good relationships but her. She knew her mother even worried about it, sometimes, she could see it in her eyes when they skyped, or when Sansa couldn’t hold back the notes of envy from her voice when she asked her for news about Talisa, Gendry, Meera or Lyanna, even if Catelyn Stark tried to hide it. Her mom had always been her first confident, and Sansa knew nothing could make her happier than to know her eldest and farthest daughter finally happy. She saw the fatidic question burn her mom’s lips every time they skyped and knew that only the knowledge of what happened four years ago, with Joffrey, prevented her from asking.

“Miss Stark!” Mr Snow said, making her startle from her thoughts as she immediately straightened up. She had taken the habit of standing straighter when she was in his presence, for he always stood as straight as an arrow – and that was putting it kindlier compared to what Shireen and Denys and the whole firm said behind his back. “What is it?”

Well, apparently even the prospect of incoming holidays wasn’t enough to cheer him up to his normal stern-brooding self. She couldn’t help but be a little disappointed at that – not that he was especially nice to work with when he was his usual self but… well it was still better to work for Grumpy than the bogeyman.

“I would like to take next week off, sir,” she announced in a confident voice, making him stop his reading.

“That’s not possible,” he told to his paper before raising his eyes to her face just in time to see her smooth the frown on her features. “Do you have the Bitterbridge’s file with you?”

“I-I do…”

“Good,” he said, gesturing for her to lead the way to their long-scheduled meeting with Mr Baratheon. But Sansa didn’t move an inch.

“Why?” she blurted out. “Why is it not possible?” she specified after he ogled her as if she had just started speaking Old Ghiscari to him.

“’The employees must warn their direct superior at least one week before the beginning of the intended leave’. It’s written in your contract.” His voice was sharp and there definitely was a warning edge to it, but Sansa forced herself not to back off this easily.

“I know that, sir, but since you won’t be there either, I don’t know what use you could have of my presence.”

Mr Snow’s eyes narrowed and his top lip twitched in the tell-tale way it did when he had enough of the conversation. “And on which precedents have you formed the idea that I won’t be at my post next week, Miss Stark?”

Sansa gulped; Shireen had told her that… Mr Snow has been here for an hour at least and… “Please sir,” she said instead, deciding against ratting her friend out, even if she was the company director’s daughter, “I’d like to visit my family. They live in the North, you see, and I haven’t been able to see them in years.” Her voice strangled over itself on the last word, and she could feel tears prickle at the corner of her eyes. She blinked hard to keep them at bay while her boss adverted his eyes and pursed his mouth in a thin line. “Next week will be Old Nan’s 94th nameday, she’s like a grandmother to me and-”

“I cannot grant it,” he said, “You’ll have to send your best wishes through the phone, as most people do nowadays.” Sansa briefly closed her eyes to try and summon her composure back.

It didn’t work. “It’s my family!” 

“The matter is closed, Miss Stark. Besides, you have to work on the conference with Salladhor Saan for next Tuesday. Conference you’ll be attending, too,” he pointed out, as if she needed to be reminded of that. They both had been working on this conference for a fortnight, and the future of AA’s commercial deal with the Summer Isles was on the line. With Shireen’s vow that her father had sent Mr Snow on forced leave, Sansa had thought that the conference would happen through an on-screen call despite the director’s well-known aversion for technology. But even if Mr Snow granted her leave, Mr Baratheon would never had gone to all the trouble of organizing a conference call for a mere assistant if his Head of Marketing stayed.

Though if he had obeyed his direct superior’s order, Mr Baratheon would have made an exception. If he hadn’t been so… so _him_ , everything would have happened swimmingly.

And so, feeling more down than she should, when her boss walked out to the weekly Tuesday meeting, Sansa followed suit without a word.

The meeting used to be the most boring moment of her week, but as she walked toward it, trying to swallow back her disappointment and resentment, Sansa felt the firsts tendrils of trepidation form themselves in her stomach. Mr Snow had at last approved of her project, and they had hand delivered it to Stannis Baratheon on Thursday afternoon. The meeting will be the first time she’d come across AA’s director since then, and she was dying to know what he had thought of her work. If he’d liked it… well it would be the perfect occasion to stand out, and perhaps it would result in a promotion in the coming weeks.

However, all her careful hope crumbled yet again when, despite her discreet attempts, Stannis Baratheon made no indication that he recognized her, or that her ten-months of hardworking had left any lingering impression on him. Between her crestfallen thoughts, Mr Snow’s murderous glare, Mr Baratheon’s annoyed remarks, Devan Seaworth’s bored doodling, Mr Florent’s distracted typing and Mr Seaworth’s exasperated sighing, the reunion was probably the less productive reunion ever.

Sansa didn’t have the opportunity to catch the director at the end of it before he had already stormed off to the adjoined room, dragging Mr Snow behind him. And so, as Davos Seaworth and Alester Florent left with their own assistants, Devan and she remained the only ones left in the room, standing awkwardly on opposite sides of the long table.

The silence stretched between them, as it had without a fault for the past two years now, since the two of them had tried dating and it had ended in a rather… ugly manner. Sansa had broken up with him soon after they had started seeing each other officially. He had a hard time accepting it, just like he had a hard time accepting many things when they had been together.  
Why she didn’t want to go out clubbing, why she called her family at least once a week, why she would spent hours deliberating with herself for every little decision, or why she didn’t want to cut off from work during the ‘honeymoon phase’… why there hadn’t been a proper ‘ _honeymoon_ phase’, too, now that we’re talking about it.

Had she could, she would have told him that it had only been two years since Joffrey, but she hadn’t had the occasion of telling Devan about him, and so he ended up persuaded that she was just a “fucking tease, you cold-hearted bitch”.

She had broken up with him just after he said those words for the first time to her face, when she had yet again removed his wandering hand from her thigh, and since then she’d been alone.

Devan softly cleared his throat and smiled slyly at her when the sound made her eyes shot up to his face. “You’ve backed up the wrong man, Stark,” he told her. “I’d say I’m sorry but, well, that wouldn’t be the entire truth,” he added when he grew tired of waiting for her answer.

She knew he wouldn’t let go of it until he had told her what he obviously so wanted to say, so she decided to humor him. “What do you mean?”

“Well, all shan’t be for nothing, I suppose I could still spoke with Stannis about you…”

She huffed, “I don’t need your… intervention. I’m doing quite well on my own, thanks for your concern.”

“You still think you’re too good for the like of me, I see. Well,” he called out loudly, drowning her protest, “joke’s on you. You should’ve stayed with me while you could, instead of always running to _Mr Snow_. I’m the future of the company, not him. What do you make of that?”

Sansa rolled her eyes, willing herself to remain calm. But still, what was it with everyone today? Shireen, Alyssa, her boss, the director, and now her ex? She should’ve remained hidden, nice and comfortable, under her covers. “You’re not the future of this company, you’re a personal assistant. Lots of people are more important than you.”

“Stannis loves me. More than he loves your Jon Snow. Who do you think he’ll give the direction of marketing, when your lover’s fired?” Devan asked, jerking his head in the direction of the room in which both of their bosses were currently conversing.

“Mr Snow and I-” She interrupted herself. Someone had started this rumor not soon after her arrival at AA, and it had spread beyond Sansa’s imagination, the way rumors constantly did. Thankfully it had died on its own since neither her nor her boss had spoken about it, but sometimes Sansa would be reminded that it was something people believed was true, once. “Anyway, Mr Snow is not going to get fired. And even in the non-existent probability that he would, you don’t know anything about marketing. Mr Baratheon has no reason to choose _you_.”

“Because you think Alester Florent knows something about finances?” He shook his head, laughing quietly under his breath. “He was only named because he is the brother of Stannis’ wife, everybody knows that.” He took a step closer, and it suddenly occurred to Sansa that he had been slowly walking to her during his taunting, without her realizing it. “I’ll be Snow’s successor – his time is over, everybody hates him. And when he falls, you’ll fall with him. A shame, I suppose, you must be a pretty good assistant since he kept you for all those years. I would have enjoyed having you do whatever I wanted.”

“Back. Off.” Had they hadn’t been at work, she would’ve slapped him, but as she couldn’t currently, she made sure to put as much contempt in her voice as she could.

Devan’s gaze darted to a point behind her right shoulder, “Revenge is sweet indeed, Stark,” he whispered before taking a step back. “No hard feelings, hmm?”

She didn’t have the chance of retorting anything to him before the door slammed open and Mr Snow walked out of Stannis Baratheon’s office, the latter on his steps. “I don’t want to see you here until the matter is definitely settled, Snow,” the director of the company cried out from his threshold, his usually impassible face twisted in anger. “Neither you nor your little _protégé_.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _The_ famous awaited chapter!  
> I leave you to it...
> 
> Enjoy!!

Sansa fidgeted on the uncomfortable plastic chair again, toying again with the lucky ring on her finger, trying in vain to temper her nervousness. Since Stannis Baratheon had nearly fired them on the spot an hour ago, she and Mr Snow hadn’t had time to think. Thankfully, he had seemed to know exactly what needed to be done to have “the matter definitely settled” and so, after a quick stop at their respective desks and then at his flat, they had found their way to Cobbler’s Square, in the City Watch headquarters, precisely.

A hulking man had greeted them at the reception. He had asked for their IDs and, without allowing Sansa the time to think things through – like, for example, what the heck did Mr Snow do to find himself here? And why was she with him? – he had led them into a large office, told them to settle and that the Lord Commander Janos Slynt would be here in an instant.

Sansa had gingerly taken a seat in one of the two chairs facing the massive one. A colossal desk, built in what looked like oak, stood in the middle of the room and delimited it in two blocks. In the part where she was, the two chairs were the only furniture whereas in front of her, the decoration was ostentatious at best. The immense desk was devoid of anything but a pencil and two sheets of legal paper about the citizenship process and illegal immigration respectively. She had read them, at first, when the Commander didn’t appear after the first ten minutes, just to have something to do. But that had ended twenty minutes ago.

Her boss was sitting in the chair next to her, several papers haphazardly put together in a folder laying on his lap, typing something furiously on his phone and, basically, ignoring her very presence. She glanced at him from time to time, behind the curtain of her hair, her whole being unsure between demanding answers and not angering him further. She could feel the tension thrumming from him, even though they weren’t touching. He had already nearly snapped when she had refused to wait in his car when he parked it in from of the City Watch’s building, the way she had when he had gone up to his flat, and the look he had given her when she sat down to wait…

He had looked at her the way she always imagined little Bambi would look at the hunter who killed his doe-mother.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He had hissed at her, the scared look swiftly turning into an incensed one.

It wasn’t a look she felt she deserved to be at the end of – after all, whatever it was that was happening, Stannis Baratheon had been angry at him, not her. She’s the one who should look at him like that, if anything. _Her_ job was on line because _he_ had done something that needed the intervention of the City Watch.

She had told him so. No matter how much they both seemed to dislike it, they were currently in the same boat. “This concerns me, too, sir. There is no way I’m twiddling my thumbs while watching years of work go to waste. Aside from that, we’ll have more chance at finding a solution to whatever this problem is if we put our two heads together. Sir.”

She could only pray that it wasn’t too late to change things for the better. She had played confident in front of Devan, but the truth was, she was well-aware that her future career in AA depended on whether Mr Snow and she managed to settle the matter. _If he falls, I do too_. And then what? She would have to find another job, that’d accept her after leaving her first company without an endorsed explanation, and her second one by being fired. They’d never take her. And then she would have no other choice than to go knocking on the Red Keep Corp’s door.

She’d do whatever it would take to prevent that from happening.

“There’s no problem. Only a few formalities,” he’d grumbled. “But what will be discussed in this room, I never want to hear it again.” Sansa felt her eyes go round at that. Who did he take her for? “From you nor from any of your friends.”

She had felt her cheeks flush against her will. “I won’t mention it, sir.”

Finally, after nearly half-an-hour waiting – diplomacy was obviously not the City Watch’s strongest suit – a middle-aged man entered. He held several sheets of paper clutched in his left hand and walked with difficulty to his chair with an air of self-assurance that Sansa had learnt to mislike during her job at the Red Keep Corp.

“Sansa Stark.” He read the name on his sheet before briefly raising his eyes to her, letting Sansa glimpse the profound apathy they held.

“Commander,” she greeted politely.

“ _Lord_ Commander,” he corrected as his eyes drifted back to the paper. “And…”

“Snow.” Her boss interrupted him before he could read the name, and Sansa found herself grateful of it. The Lord Commander didn’t seem like the quickest of man, and the sooner they would do whatever needed to be done, the sooner they could return to Mr Baratheon and to their jobs.

“Mr Snow… of course.” He noted something on his paper, while he kept on talking in this condescending drawl of his. “You received an official letter from the City Watch a few days ago, yet we didn’t hear from you until this very morning.”

Sansa saw out of the corner of her eye her boss shoot her a warning glare, before he turned his attention completely to the Lord Commander. “I’ve been otherwise occupied-”

“Nothing is more important than to abide by the law of Westeros, Mr Snow,” Janos Slynt pointed out.

By the Father and the old gods, Sansa thought as she felt her eyes widen despite herself, what did he do?

“Of course,” her boss assured him, in the saccharine tone he used with the clients or during business functions and dinner meetings. She was certain that, had she turned to look at him, his face and his smile would’ve been the perfect picture of relaxation. “I have all the required files with me,” he said, handing them to the other man at the same time. “The matter is easily settled, and we’ll be on our way.” Sansa smiled too, glad of how things seemed to work out without her intervention needed.

“I don’t think so, no,” the Lord Commander noted, unaware that those five words had made both Sansa and her boss’ – she was sure of it – hearts stop beating for a moment. “Your stay here has expired; therefore, you legally cannot remain on the continent.”

“What?” Sansa murmured under her breath.

“It’s the law, miss.”

“It’s impossible,” Mr Snow argued, his voice turning deeper and calmer. “I have the files here-”

“You’re welcome to try and apply for Westerosi citizenship-”

“Alright, then, let’s do that.”

“-once you’re in Essos. In my knowledge, there is a plane that leaves for…” He put back on his desk the files handed by Mr Snow, after having glanced at them, “Pentos at 9.25 this evening. Or is it tomorrow? I need to check.” 

_He can’t!_ Sansa wanted to shout to the older man. He can’t leave the city, the director would never allow it while still keeping him! That was something she was certain of. Stannis Baratheon wanted his collaborators to be physically present around him, and the ones who couldn’t, well, there was the door.  
Salladhor Saan had been one of them, a Summer Islander who had worked as Mr Seaworth’s second in command and who had wanted to go back to his homeland. Well, he had been able to, but he had to build his own company from scratch and now looked for a commercial deal with his former employer.  
The same would happen to Mr Snow, there was no doubt about it. And if he falls, …

Sansa threw a desperate look her boss’ way, silently pleading him to fix this, because she was coming short on this. She hoped the message that she’d do whatever it’d take passed across, too, because his troubles, should they become real, will also be hers. He caught her gaze and, for a split second, she knew they shared the same mind.

She discreetly eyed up and down Janos Slynt, wondering if he was the kind of man who would turn down a proposal of… leniency. It was risky, because it had the potential to worsen their case – and put her in front of the radar – but only if it was refused. Money wasn’t a problem: she had some saved, she knew her boss wasn’t poor either, and, at worst, her parents could help her. Now, she only needed to broach the subject and…

“I can’t leave, Lord Commander Slynt.” She nodded at his words, half in encouragement and half at self-satisfaction at her idea.

“No? Well that’s a pity. I admit I would’ve preferred this to go without complication, but…”

“I can’t leave,” Mr Snow reiterated, in a voice that grew stronger with each word, “because I’m getting married. We’re getting married.”

Sansa’s brain stayed blank for a few seconds, apart from the question who’s ‘we’? And then… then she understood. He was playing him; that was his solution. The sheets of paper on the Commander’s desk, there were for him. _Illegal immigration_ and _Citizenship process_. The process of asking for citizenship and a visa was long and tedious, she knew that. A quicker and surer way of obtaining it was through marriage – after one year as the spouse of a citizen of Westeros, the citizenship was automatically accorded. She had read it on the official paper less than an hour ago.

She had to play along.

“Oh,” the Lord Commander of the City Watch said, his eyes darting from Mr Snow to her. “You’re getting married? How wonderful.” Sansa schooled her features as best as she could when his eyes were on her.

“Yes. We’re planning on visiting her family next week, actually,” Mr Snow said, looking intently at her out of the corner of his eye. “To celebrate our engagement in the same time as Old Nan’s 94th nameday.”

The Lord Commander switched his attention to her once again. “You confirm what he’s saying, Miss Stark?” She opened her mouth, but closed it nearly immediately, for she was feeling as if she had swallowed a whole cart of stones, with how dry her throat was and how heavy her stomach. Instead, she nodded. “The City Watch usually do not trouble itself with matrimonial matters, except for this very peculiar situation. Marriage bounds are such; everything that is mine shall be yours etc etc – possessions, feelings, and home. I hope you understand my meaning, Miss Stark. Even the law cannot break apart man and wife. With two Westerosi citizens, I see no problem. But you are well aware Mr Snow, here, doesn’t have a Westerosi citizenship.”

Sansa tried to sound as self-assured as she should, if everything was real and true about… this, “No, but I do.” She felt as if the rocks she had swallowed had started moving on their own in her stomach.  
Her boss tensed next to her, a movement missed by the Commander who sat across them and who would only see her boss’ still carefully relaxed expression if he so much as bothered to look at him instead of her.

“So the two of you are happily in love and plan to get married.”

“Very much so!” Mr Snow sounded confident, as confident as he always sounded in every business meeting, as if it were no different. _It’s not_ , she realized. _It’s only a business deal. We both ‘definitely settle the matter’. And he’s allowing me to see my family again, in exchange for my cooperation. That’s my end of the deal._

Janos Slynt ogled them with his most unimpressed look so far. “You are aware that lying to a- to the representant of the law is a dire crime, and severely punished, right? And that helping an illegal immigrant settle down in a country that is not his is prohibited?”

“We are,” she heard herself say, “and we’re not deceiving you, sir.” The rest of the meeting, it all happened in blur to her. She was barely aware of what she was doing or saying – if she was saying anything at all – her mind staying blank. She stood up as they stood up, she left as they left, she stepped outside as her boss did.

She remained at the door for several minutes, as the ambient noise of the busy street and the frisk air slowly pulled her back into her senses. Mr Snow was hovering near her, the folder stacked with new files tucked under his arm, he was trying to get her to walk to his car.

Sansa took a breath, exhaled shakily. She… did that. She said it.

She felt she was about to start crying. She felt she was about to fall.

Her hands shot out, curling themselves in the pans of Mr Snow’s coat at the first buckling of her knees, holding onto it for dear life even as he jerked back. “Miss Stark,” her boss warned in a rumble.

“I can’t,” she whispered back to him, slowly shaking her head. “I can’t do this, it’s… I can’t.” Her parents, her family – what would they think of her, if they could see her in this very moment?

“You can,” he vowed, looking at her straight in the eyes, never wavering in their intensity as he silently seized whether she was strong enough or not. “You will. Because if you don’t, we’ll both lose everything we’ve worked for.” They stood closer to each other than what was proper, but none of them seemed bothered by it. “We’ll file the official marriage papers, we’ll announce the news to your family, so that Janos Slynt will have people ready to testify, and then we’ll forget the matter entirely. Until next year, when we’ll get a divorce. You heard him, a year is all it’ll takes before everything is settled. It’ll be easy.”

Easy.  
It made something uncomfortable settle in her stomach, adding to the rocks that were still present. She had dreamt of a beautiful marriage all her life.

A wedding and then, a year after, a divorce.  
A business transaction.

It would only be words on a piece of paper. Meaningless. It wouldn’t even be a true wedding, she mused, because they didn’t love each other. She would still save all the beautiful memories of a wedding day for her true wedding day: the choosing of the dress, the tears, the happiness, the celebration. Nobody would really need to know about this fake marriage, but her parents would be pleased to see that their daughter could still be in a serious relationship. She’d tell them that Mr Snow wasn’t the man for her, when they officially break-up. People got divorced all the time, now, didn’t they?

He waited until she finally nodded her accord, then clumsily squeezed her wrist to make it go away. As soon as he was able to, he strode to where his car was parked.

She watched him walk away as if he had the devil at his heels. That sight pulled her out of her numbness and she run to him, pulling him back by the arm. “I have conditions. Two,” she declared, ignoring the pointed look he gave to her hand grasping his sleeve. This was definitely going to be on the personal side of their lives – and hers more than his – she wasn’t going to take orders from him the way it happened in the professional side of their lives.

“Alright.”

“First, we’ll do as I say for everything that concern my family. What, when, how, who. I decide.”

“Done.”

His readiness to agree was surprising, but pleasantly so, she noted idly, worrying her bottom lip at the thought of what she was about to ask him. A petty thing, revenge was. “Secondly, I want you to ask me. Properly.” She lifted her chin up, as his eyes widened in understanding of her demand.

“I…”

“This will do,” she said, taking off the ring Brienne had given her for her previous nameday and handing it to him.

He looked around at the small flow of unsuspecting passers-by, obviously ill-at-ease at the idea that they’ll see. “Here?”

“Yes. I suppose the next time we’ll see each other will be tomorrow evening at the airport. Nobody propose in an airport.”

She watched him sigh, defeated, before he went to a knee, in the middle of the not-quite deserted street. “Marry me.”

She shook her head, ignoring the glint of anger in his eyes, and repeated, enunciating every syllable, “Properly.”

“Miss Stark, will you marry me?” He asked, devoid of emotion expect for his eyes that were brimming with humiliation.

She snatched her ring back and put it herself on her finger. “Yes,” she hissed between her teeth, keeping her tears at bay, “that will do.” She had no idea what she was doing. “That was the most deplorable proposal I’ve ever heard.”

She didn’t wait for him to get back on his feet, she would walk home on her own. She had a trip to plan.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's a full Jon's POV chapter, the arrival at Winterfell and the meeting with the Starks (some of them at last)  
> Enjoy!!

The music is pleasant.  
The cook is skilled, I’ve heard he comes from the Reach. I’m sure the food will be good.   
You look beautiful, tonight, Miss Stark.

_No, not the last one, he thought. Too familiar, it would only turn out awkward._

_The rented dining hall would soon appear before their eyes, so he started searching for the parking’s lot._

_“It’s here,” his passenger said, pointing at the entrance. “Thank you again for driving me, sir. I don’t know how I would have gotten here, otherwise.”_

_They stepped out of the car at the same time and walked in silence to where the reception was slowing beginning. A jazz band had been hired for the occasion and their music could be heard from the outside, through the widely opened windows – a futile attempt to benefit of the relative cooler air brought with the lowering of the sun._

_As soon as Miss Stark and he had stepped into the large room, they were immediately accosted with Melisandre, who was eyeing them up and down with a faint frown on her face. It was a habit of hers, for every official event where they would represent AA in the eyes of the world, former and potential future clients and the representatives of the other competing firms, and this one wasn’t any different._

_“There, my dear, you’ve finally found appropriate shoes,” Melisandre observed happily. “Now, I want you to forego those awful flat things you wear at work, alright? You’re not a ten-year-old schoolgirl anymore, you’re working for the most prominent business of King’s Landing, you have to look the part, too. Am I being understood?”_

_The three of them glanced at Miss Stark’s feet, currently encased in a pair of rather high heels that he had never see her wore outside of business dinners, where they were usually seated the whole time. Still, she agreed to Melisandre’s demand, which was a good thing. It showed that she put the requests of her superiors – and, by association, of the company – before her personal comfort. He noticed how Melisandre also nodded approvingly at her reaction before leaving them for some other mundane conversation over politics or the weather._

_Miss Stark excused herself and went to find Davos’ son, who had been exceptionally granted attendance to the event since he was only Stannis’ personal assistant, leaving him to find their seats on his own. They were sharing their table with Dontos Hollard, who was nothing but a foolish man, and whoever his plus-one ended up being, Kevan and Dorna Lannister, and Hubart Rambton and his eldest son. He figured Hollard would be easy enough to convince, while they would have to outsmart the Lannisters for Rambton, but it would spice up the dinner at the very least. He would wait to see how Miss Stark would think to act – he hoped she had read the list of invitees before coming here._

_It was a_ business _dinner, after all, and he didn’t take her with him so that she could spend the evening talking with her partner while eating fancy dishes. He looked disapprovingly around the room, but his assistant was nowhere to be found, which was unfortunate. He had good hopes for her future, should she keep on working the way she did thus far, and he could admit that he would be disappointed if she chose to prioritize her personal affections over her professional duties. He promised himself to remind her of that, when she’d come back._

_She did so after a few minutes, but ahead of the Rambtons and the Lannisters, immediately adding her presence to the conversation and making it flow easily, more so than when it had only been Hollard and him. Before long, she had Dontos Hollard nearly eating out of the palm of her hand, and this before their main competition could even settle down._

_Everything was going swimmingly, and so he was surprised when he heard her voice falter and take a sharp intake of breath._

_“A’e you al’ight, miss?” Hollard slurred, noticing that something was wrong too, despite his current state._

_He followed his assistant’s line of sight and couldn’t help but raise one eyebrow when his eyes fell on Kevan Lannister, walking toward his seat, in deep conversation with his brother, the not-so-retired Tywin Lannister. “Miss Stark,” he said, letting a hint of warning meddle in, “is there a problem?”_

_The answer to this was clear and, as he had not feared, she denied the presence of any issue and apologized to Hollard._

_He leant back in his seat, satisfied with her swift handling of the situation. It was, of course, too early to know for sure, but he had the hunch that Miss Stark could have a promising future within AA, which was a first compared to all the assistants he’d had._

_As Hollard was writing his number with difficulty on a piece of paper, so that they could call him back on the morrow for more detailed information, he gave a little tap to her elbow, calling her attention on the upset expression Kevan Lannister sported, as he understood that she had won over Dontos Hollard, and that he was now too wasted to put two words together, let alone listen to full sentences._

_He watched her hold back a satisfied smile as he stood to greet the Lannisters. Kevan and Dorna both wore matching frown._

_“Oh!” Dorna Lannister exclaimed, as Miss Stark froze in the middle of her handshake with the husband, “but I know you! You were Joffrey’s sweetheart, before Margaery! Sonna… no, Sandra…”_

_“Sansa, madam,” his assistant murmured, quickly clasping her hands together to hide their slight shaking._

_“Yes! Sansa Stark!” Dorna Lannister continued, oblivious to Miss Stark’s disquiet. “She was at Joff’s graduation party,” she told her husband._

_“Ah, uh, yes dear,” he heard Kevan Lannister mutter, but his attention was more and more focused on Miss Stark, who looked as if she was on the brink of passing out or break down into tears._

_That won’t do, he found himself thinking. He took a hold of her elbow and, after excusing them, led her to the other side of the room, where a small crowd had gathered to watch the juggling and twisting of the bartender, preparing the cocktails._

_“I’m-I’m s-so sorry,” she babbled in a quavering voice, between two gulps of air. “Former boyfriend’s family. I didn’t expect-”_

_“Just… focus on him,” he said, nodding toward the bartender who was twirling and beaming at the cheers. She distractedly nodded and switched her attention from the ‘former boyfriend’ to a safer subject._

__So that makes two of them, he thought, that should be more than enough to satisfy them.

The ‘ _Previous Relationships_ ’ subject had been one of his most dreaded would-need-to-happen discussion, but it appeared that he wouldn’t need to endure it, after all. He turned the page and held back a sigh at the long-list of subjects written over this one, too. They would have to be able to give correct answer to ten of randomly selected subjects among all those, to prove to the City Watch that their… marriage was real, at the scheduled meeting next week. Which meant that they needed to learn the correct answers to each of those in the following week.

Which mean he would have to tell her about…

No. He’ll just say that he doesn’t have any previous relationship – or perhaps he’ll mention Ros. They hadn’t been in a relationship, but then it wasn’t as if anyone would be there to call on it.

Miss Stark was busy watching the rapidly-growing city and airport through the window since the pilot had informed them that they would land soon, after having spent the one-hour flight chatting on and off with her left seatmate instead of starting to go through the list of questions or taking the opportunity to sleep.

They were one of the firsts to leave the plane, and the race to catch the last bus to Wintertown began. He didn’t think he had ever had to run in an airport in his life, and that wasn’t an experience he’ll like to reiterate, but they had to if they didn’t want to spend the night sleeping on those awful metal chairs. The bus was a four-hour drive from the airport – courtesy of the northerners who had vehemently protested the building of an airport anywhere but in White Harbor, who was the North’s south – so they would arrive at Wintertown in the middle of the night. Miss Stark’s older brother – Robert – had offered to drive them to the Starks’ house.

Thankfully, their luggage didn’t make them wait too long, and so they jumped in the bus mere seconds before the driver closed the door. However, the roadway ended up being in dire need of repair, and so every bump and turn prevented everyone from getting any sleep. Miss Stark remained silent for the whole duration of the journey, which made him think she had fallen asleep at some point, but it turned out that she had her nose pressed against the window to try and take a glimpse of the trees and fields that surrounded them. It was impossible to see much of anything, at all, with how dark it was, he found.

The bus’ terminus was a vast underground parking. A stocky, beaming man was leaning against a pillar, holding a sign with ‘Welcome’ shakily written in purple on it, surrounded with little hearts.

Miss Stark barely thought of her large suitcase before she ran to the man, the dull sound of their body colliding under the many layers of clothing they were both wearing drowned by their laughter and the greetings made by the people around them. He briefly wondered how people could be this loud and wide-awaken at 2 in the morning, as he waited for them to let each other go. He hoped Robert Stark wouldn’t think of doing the same to him. The very thought of it happening sent nervous shivers down his spine.

Thankfully, the other man only offered his hand to shake, introducing himself as “Robb” while eyeing him up and down. Miss Stark took a hold of her brother’s arm to redirect his attention to her, and dragged him to his car, claiming she was feeling really exhausted. He was left trailing behind them, pulling her suitcase as well as his, as she skipped and babbled far too excitedly for someone who was supposedly exhausted.

The drive was longer than he had expected, the Starks living nearly out of town, in a district called Winterfell that was half-suburb and half-woodland, if Google Maps could be trusted, and the two siblings spent it talking animatedly between themselves, not paying him any mind.

Robb Stark dropped them off before a gigantic gateway that looked like it was made of oak and carved with patterns that were impossible to distinguish, with how dark it was. With a last “Good night, see ya tomorrow for the brunch!”, he was gone, leaving them to wait in the freezing cold. He made no comment of it.

“Minisa is sick,” Miss Stark said, so suddenly he had to think about it twice to understand that she was talking to him. “He’s worried, that’s why he left so… quickly. She’s six.”

He hummed distractedly. Behind the gateway was a large garden, which pathway to the house was thankfully illuminated, which made the managing of two suitcases easier than if he had to walk blindly. The door opened just as Miss Stark’s feet laid on the first step, and a heavily-bundled woman stepped out and jogged to Miss Stark, her arms wide open and her face beaming.

“Mom!” Miss Stark cried out, throwing herself in her mother’s arms and burying her face in her neck, making his steps falter involuntarily. “Oh, I missed you so so much!”

“We missed you, too, dear,” said a figure, standing at the door.

“Dad!”

Miss Stark left her mother’s embrace for her father’s, and that one lasted as long as the previous; there was no difference.

He stood there, still having not moved to the porch, when Mrs Stark turned to him. He took a step back toward the cases when she smiled kindly. However, as she walked toward him, a small frown formed on her face. “You must be freezing,” she tutted. “Come in, come in, it’s warmer inside! Ned, come help him. Sansa, I hope you didn’t let him pull your stuff all the way from King’s Landing.”

“I, um…”

“It’s alright, madam,” he said, interrupting Miss Stark.

“Oh, none of that here,” she said, still smiling. He briefly wondered if he had something on his face or said something funny without realizing it. “I am Catelyn, and this is Ned,” she pointed at her husband, emphasizing their names. He nodded, knowing full-well he would never call them so casually, the way one may call their friends.

Mr Stark clasped his shoulder by way of greeting, and he followed him inside.

The house seemed big, bigger than he had imagined it. “Do you want something? Coffee, tea, chocolate? Something to eat?”

“We’re okay,” said Miss Stark after checking with him. “We’ll just go to sleep. Good night, mom.”

He followed Mr Stark up the stairs, Miss Stark and her mother remaining talking downstairs. He was led in a corridor, and the other man briefly smiled at him before opening a door, “This is your room. I think Cat bought a dresser for you, it’s the one in white. Have a good night,” he said, clasping his shoulder again before leaving.

He briefly sighed in relief that Mr Stark had chosen the shoulder once more, instead of somewhere else. The man was stronger than he had expected.

The room assigned by Mrs Stark was large, its walls pink where they weren’t covered in what appeared to be pictures. There was another door who he discovered led to a bathroom, and the wall opposite to it served as a wardrobe, when you pulled the curtains.

He was busy taking out a newly-bought sleeping bag from his suitcase when the door opened, and Miss Stark stepped in. The smile she wore died down as soon as his presence was reminded to her and she settled to put her case in a corner, her brows knitted.

As they readied themselves for bed in silence, he saw her head jerk up out of the corner of his eye. “What do you take for breakfast? It’s not really urgent,” she continued as he opened his mouth to answer her, “tomorrow’s brunch. But I guess you’ll need to tell me before Monday. Mom and Dad always wake up early, and mom’ll insist to prepare yours as she’ll prepare mine, since we’re on leave.”

“I’ll be up early, too,” he said, unrolling the sleeping bag on the ground.

Miss Stark’s eyebrows rose, “But it’s the holi-! Right.” She muttered something under her breath that he didn’t catch.

“What time will the… brunch take place?”

“The same time as any brunch in the capital,” she shrugged. “We’re not that cut off from the world, you know. Sir,” she added when he shot her a warning glare at her angry comment.

He bit the inside of his cheek, berating himself for asking the question in the first place. It was nothing a simple internet search wouldn’t tell him, after all, he thought as he typed the question in the search bar. There! It typically begins around 10 or 11 in the morning. It will do.

“Good night, sir,” she frostily said, not meaning any word of it and making him feel it.

“Good night, Miss Stark,” he answered as he laid down in the bedroll. She switched off the lights just when he found the most comfortable position to sleep in. He had slept in worse conditions, yes, but he didn’t recall it being so uncomfortable. He supposed he was used to comfort, now, and that age had also played his part. Not that he was old, mind you, but he still wasn’t sixteen anymore.

The difference was felt on the morning, too, when he woke up and had to bite back a groan at the feeling all over his body. He shuffled around to the bag he had gotten out of his case yesterday – earlier in the morning – trying not to wake Miss Stark who was still peacefully sleeping, sprawled in the middle of her bed, from what he could see.

He quickly dressed up in the adjoined bathroom, ignoring the shower that called to him just so. He had had to buy a whole new set of running clothes, warmer than the one he had in King’s Landing, but more adapted to the northern cold temperature. He crossed her still-dark bedroom as swiftly as possible, having to leave behind his still plugged phone but grabbing his old mp3 on his way to the door. 

As he walked down the stairs, he heard clinking and clanking coming from not-so-far. He peeked behind the door of what appeared to be the kitchen, intending to go on with his plan, but Mr Stark spotted him and invited him in.

“I hope we didn’t wake you up.” Mrs Stark turned to face him, her eyes widening slightly, a smile forming itself on her face. “Oh, but you’re a runner!”

“No, madam. I usually start my day early,” he said as she slowly shook her head, tutting.

“Catelyn” she corrected. “This is wonderful. I used to wake up early every day, too, to go swimming. I tried to keep the habit even with the children, but when Arya was born, it just became too much work in the mornings, even with Ned helping.” She sighed, the smile she wore never leaving, seemingly lost in her memories, as was her husband who had stopped drying the cutting board. “I have started again, since Rickon leaves for the week, but I admit my motivation goes a little down in winter,” she chuckled at that and he felt the corner of his lips turn up against his will, only to turn down when her brows furrowed. “I hope you didn’t plan on leaving without eating something, though!”

A brunch is supposed to replace the lunch and the breakfast, he nearly quoted to her. Instead, he took a step back, already knowing where this was going. She would propose to have him eat with them, and he would refuse, because he didn’t want to. Then, she would ask again, because that was the polite thing to do to a guest, and he would have to accept. It would turn out awkward and they would turn suspicious and spill the beans when the City Watch would come ask questions. It would end up in a disaster.

His eyes automatically darted to the window as he wished he could just run outside and avoid the situation. “I… am not hungry, madam, thank you.”

Just as he feared, Mrs Stark shook her head. “Nonsense.” She paused. “At least take this with you. I wouldn’t want my daughter to be cross with me so soon,” she said, handing him an apple.

He stood for a few seconds, looking at the red apple in his hand, his eyes unblinking. Then, realizing what a picture he must make, he nodded his thanks at her and walked away, leaving her and her husband alone.

He ate the apple as he crossed the garden, absentmindedly noticing how well kept it was. Either Mr or Mrs Stark had a green thumb, that much was obvious. Once his snack was over, he busied himself disentangling his earbuds from one another. He started slow, as always, paying attention to his surroundings in order not to get lost in a way he didn’t have to, down in the capital, where his daily run always happened in the same place, along the Blackwater Bay.

As he wandered in the direction he believed they had arrived from, this night, he happened on the wood he had noticed in the car. It looked principally made of silver firs and cedars, if he remembered the names correctly. He had never seen a silver fir in his life, and the sight of so many pilled in one place, their branches moving along the icy gusts of wind, the white of their leaves gleaming with early morning light was a stunning one.

Jon breathed in.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fluffy fluff chapter!  
> Fair warning addendum: you may recognize some lines of dialogue or actions from somewhere... Won't say anymore here :)
> 
> Enjoy!

Catelyn Stark was finishing cutting the carrots when she felt two arms encircle her around the shoulders and she smiled as she turned around, taking her daughter in hers. They stayed like that for several minutes, but still it felt mere seconds when Sansa wiggled a bit, signaling that the hug was over. “Hi mom,” she said happily, laying a long kiss on her cheek. “Slept well?”

“I did. What about you? I didn’t expect you to be up so early, too.” Sansa had looked so tired those past months, when they had only been able to talk through computer screens, she had thought she would take advantage of her first day of vacation to sleep in. But it appeared the both of them were early risers, though him more than her daughter.

“I wanted to spend a little time with you,” Sansa confided, going for another squeezing hug.

Catelyn couldn’t help but hum happily. Contrary to what happened with her boys and Arya, who had completely cut off hugs and kisses when they turned 11 and had only started again in college – and still, on a much less daily basis than they used to when they were little – Sansa never had such qualms. She gave and asked for physical affections freely, with her, her father, her siblings, her friends, were she 8 or 14 or 25 years old.

“Sansa,” Ned passed his head through the door, “Jon just came back.” She nodded in acknowledgement after a bit but didn’t leave the embrace for her boyfriend.

“What can I help with?” She asked, instead.

Catelyn shook her head. “No, no. You’re my daughter, in my home, I’m spoiling you, not the other way around.”

Her daughter puffed but executed herself and sat down next to her father to keep her company.

“So,” she said when the silence stretched, and it seemed to her the shower had started running on the first floor, “we’ve known you more curious, dear.”

“I was going to wait a bit,” Sansa laughed, a bit embarrassed, “you’ve barely met him.”

She saw her husband open his mouth, surely to voice the reservations he had since she had announced that she would bring her infamous Mr Snow home as her boyfriend, but one look was enough to remind him that it wasn’t the time for that. “We’ve talked a bit, this morning, when he came here to say hello.”

Sansa’s eyebrows shot up to her hairline. “Really? What did he say?”

She was almost nervous, Catelyn realized, startled. That wasn’t like her daughter. “Nothing special. Why? Is there something we should know?”

“No, no! Nothing at all.”

She exchanged a questioning look with Ned, Sansa’s nervousness slowly becoming hers. There was a catch somewhere, Sansa was hiding something to them. Catelyn willed herself to put this aside; she was a grown and responsible adult, in love, it was only natural that there were things in her life that she didn’t want her parents aware of.

Not everyone was a Joffrey, and this Jon seemed like nothing of a Joffrey.

She smiled, then, and asked her about the last book she had read, watching Sansa’s shoulder sag in relief at the change of subject. The front door opened soon after, and Robb, Bran and Meera and Rickon came in, each greeting their long-absent sibling in their own way and loudly announcing their presence. Sansa introduced Jon, who had come down when he’d heard all the noise. Catelyn smiled at him, wishing to put him at ease before so much people in front of him at the same time. That one didn’t seem very exuberant to her.

And so, just as she had expected, he walked to her soon after saluting Bran. “Is there something I can do to help, madam?”

She held back from pointing it out again, knowing it would be of no use. “Yes, there is, now that I think about it.” There wasn’t, but well. “You could open this bottle.” She had whispered the last bit, but it ended up a futile attempt, just as all others.

“Wine?” Rickon’s head perked up. “There’s gonna be wine? Can I have some?”

She heard Bran laugh at his brother’s puppy look and her husband sigh, Sansa ask “He can drink?” to which Robb answered that the little baby was “a man grown now”.

“Please, dad,” the ‘man grown’ – who was still gangly and sporting the round cheeks of his childhood – implored as if his life was at stake. “Robb’s right. And besides, everyone’s going to!”

“I won’t,” Sansa pointed out.

“One glass,” Ned said, “and that’s all.”

“Half a glass,” she objected as Jon sheepishly handed her the bottle, “and with lots of food.” She thanked him as the main door opened once more, and Arya and Gendry appeared in the kitchen a minute later.

Catelyn hushed everyone out when the room became too crowded to move around, so that only she and Ned were left behind. She could hear the conversations continue from the other side of the door as she thought back on what she had seen of Jon Snow today, compared with what she had heard about him for years.

“What do you think?” Ned asked softly, moving to stand beside her. She smiled at him, and at the fact that they seemed to share a same mind, more often than not, even after all these years.

She thought about her answer for a moment. “Sansa looks happy, happier than she was. And he seems nice enough, to me.”

“That’s what I mean. That man is the reason our girl was so down for months. And now, she tells us out of the blue that they’ve been seeing each other for six months, and she wants us to meet him.”

“It must be serious, Ned. She hadn’t taken anyone to meet us for years, so he must be quite special.”

“But she’s been working for him for years, and we’ve never heard anything good about him. And even after meeting him – and yes it _is_ too soon to really know for sure – but he doesn’t seem like the right sort of man for Sansa.”

She raised her hand to his forehead, to brush away the worried lines that had appeared there. “I think we simply need to trust her on this matter, my love. She’s an adult, and she knows better than any of us what is the right sort of man for her. Besides, I’m sure that she knows there’s a lot more about Jon than what meets the eye.”

“I suppose you’re right…”

“Let’s give him a chance to prove himself. He just arrived here hours ago, and most of which were spent sleeping. And he seems shy.”

“But you saw her reaction when you mentioned him, back there. I’ve never seen her like this, hiding something from us. What if,” Ned blanched a little, an unbidden concern visibly occurring to him, “oh gods, what if she’s pregnant?”

Catelyn’s heart sped up at the thought. She found herself speechless for a moment, as she rewound the last interactions she had with her daughter. That was a possibility, she concluded. “If that is the case, then we’ll have another granddaughter or grandson by the end of the year.”

Her husband was barely listening, fussing over the idea. “Gods what if it happened when she was drunk, or too exhausted to think, and now she feels _obliged_ to stay with him for the child’s sake?”

She hushed him, her hands up in a placating gesture. “We don’t know if that’s what’s happening, Ned,” she reminded him. “Perhaps she’s just in love and looking for her parents’ happiness at seeing her happy.”

“Dad! Come here!” Arya shouted from the other room. “Sansa’s saying Talisa’s soup is better than your lemon cakes!”

“I’m not!” Sansa immediately protested, the sound half-swallowed under Arya’s cackles. 

Ned laughed under his breath and left the room, a mock-affronted look on his face. “My cakes? How can you say something so horrible?” she heard him retort.

Catelyn shook her head in amusement at her youngest daughter’s antics. The relation between the two sisters had had ups and downs – the ups were quite high but the downs very low – during their childhood, neither of the girls understanding why the other was so different than herself, but that had changed when Sansa had left for college.

They had separated on a big fight – she couldn’t remember on what, exactly – and they had separated on very, very bad terms. Catelyn even remember fearing that it had been the last straw that would’ve broken the camel’s back. But mercifully, a little time apart had apparently been what they had needed, and they broke up crying and apologized when they had seen each other again. Since that day, their relation had taken a turn for the best, and there hadn’t been any fight as far as she knew.

Only lot of teasing.

“Robb?” she called out, stopping the talking of her reunited family. “Those dishes will need to be brought to the table.”

Her oldest dragged his feet to the kitchen, as if he wasn’t a year shy of turning thirty. “I had to watch over Minisa all night, mom,” he complained. “Others can help you, too.” He hadn’t finished saying the last bit that Sansa and Jon both appeared at the door, an offer on their lips. _See_ , she told herself and wished she could tell her husband too, _they share a same mind, too_.

“You’re right,” she told her son, instead. “Rickon, come help your brother! You two, go sit down, you are on va-ca-tion.”

They went back to the dining room and her youngest added his own muttering to his brother’s in the kitchen. With three pair of hands, however, the dozen of dishes were rapidly brought from the counter to the table and soon Catelyn had her whole family seated next to her, enjoying an early lunch – a ‘brunch’, as they called it – on a Sunday.

The conversation flowed easily, and Catelyn tried to ease it back on track as soon as someone started to wonder about the new addition, who was currently sitting across Sansa and hadn’t spoken a word since the beginning of the meal. He looked terribly uncomfortable every time it happened, nearly shrinking on-the-spot as if he wanted nothing else but remain unnoticed, and so she helped him as best as she could. Sansa answered questions about the capital when she couldn’t prevent them from asking.

She saw Ned’s displeasure at her little scam, and she even understood it – she was curious too – but pressuring the man with questions, eight against one – two really because Sansa would side with her boyfriend – would only make him clam up.

He looked already so tense, as if he already knew the interrogation would start sooner rather than later and dreaded it. He was extremely polite, too-much for it to be candid, stood up straighter than should be pleasant and, since he came here, she had never seen him smile yet. She witnessed him steal glances at Sansa, sometimes, when she wasn’t looking or when she was talking, but his expression remained a mystery. He didn’t kiss her either, nor took her hand when she laid it on the table. But then, neither did she.

They were obviously quite secretive; the way new love could turn out to be. Sansa was probably cautious, and him overwhelmed.

Toward the end of the meal, Jon turned to her husband. “The lemon cakes truly are delicious, sir,” he said, and everyone stopped talking at once.

Bran chuckled and muttered something that sounded awfully like, “It’s a match made in heaven.”

“Thanks, truly.” Ned answered before launching into the story on how he came to learn the recipe and how it had only been perfected over the years with how often that special treat was asked for by Sansa.

“So,” Robb said once the story was over, “now that we’re talking, how did you two end up together?”

It was Rickon who answered, preventing his sister from doing so. “They work together, dumbass.”

“Rickon!” She and Ned immediately scolded him.

“Thank you very much for your wise input. But you know what I mean.”

Sansa and Jon exchanged a look, and they seemed to agree on having Sansa recount the story. Catelyn saw her husband lean over, his face the picture of concentration. At the littlest thing that seemed wrong, he would flare up.

“Well,” she said, “it just happened… naturally. We spend a lot of time together, and one thing leading to another, we found ourselves in love.”

“We did,” Jon nodded. He glanced around the table, as if looking to see if he had convinced them. Catelyn couldn’t help but wince internally at that, feeling her heart squeeze in sympathy. He was probably aware of the terrible stories Sansa had told about him over the years. No wonder he was so anxious and uncomfortable!

“And when did that happen?” Robb continued, despite her warning look in his direction. “Because we’ve only learnt about it three days ago, maybe?”

Sansa’s cheeks flushed, and Jon fidgeted in his chair. “We, um, we wanted to be sure of us before telling other persons.”

“That’s wonderful, dear,” Catelyn intervened before Robb could pry more. There would be enough time for this the following days, they shouldn’t forget that the both of them had barely arrived. “Have you ever been in the North before?” She asked Jon.

“Never, madam. But it is a beautiful place, as far as I can see. I ran through the neighborhood, this morning, and in the woods you have outside of it. The landscapes are truly magnificent, I think, and the nature and climate are a welcome change from the capital. I’m eager of seeing more.”

She saw Ned smile at that and knew that her husband’s worries had lessened. “It really is the best place in the world,” he approved, “and I’m glad you think so, too.”

“So you run?”

“I do, when I can.”

“You should bring Sansa with you, it’ll only be good for her.” Robb cackled at his sister’s shriek of outrage and ignored his mother rolling her eyes.

The conversation turned away from him and to Minisa’s oncoming rhythmic gymnastics’ event, but she noticed the way his shoulders relaxed a bit and the relieved looks exchanged between him and Sansa.

==--==

He rolled his shoulders in the vain attempt to ease the tension built up in them. The shower this morning didn’t help one bit, and his self-attempts at massaging it away by himself only offered a short relief. He eyed the sleeping in question as he swiftly closed the door behind him. He apprehended the following night he’ll need to spend on this thing. 

He had seized the chance for a bit of time alone when Mrs Stark had sent him away when he had proposed to help washing. He sat at the foot of Miss Stark’s bed, mulling over the brunch and his meeting with all her siblings. Thankfully, there should be no more of them, he couldn’t help but think, soothed.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket and sighed at seeing the absence of notifications. He had sent mails and called Stannis Baratheon, Melisandre and Davos more time than he could count those past days, but none of them had answered yet. It worried him more than he wanted to admit.

He buried his face in his hands, following the childish impulse of simply wanting to hide from the reality and precarity of his situation. He needed to fool the City Watch and Miss Stark’s family, convince her not to give up and assuage the director’s ire. There was one thing Stannis Baratheon despised above all, it was deception. And he knew he had more than enough co-workers in AA that would be more than happy of planting the firsts seeds of his termination in the director’s mind.

Should that happen, he knew, the only thing left to do was to take himself into a plane to Pentos and start over in that damned city. _Be Aegon Targaryen, and everything that fucking entailed…_

He heard the door opening and his heart lurched in his throat at the thought of it being Mrs Stark, or her husband – who seemed warier of him – or one of the siblings. The fact that it was only her was only a bit of a relief.

“What is it, Miss Stark?” He said, mourning his time alone when she sat down next to him, apparently intending to stay and talk.

She took a deep breath, her mouth crooked in a half-smile. “Well, first I think we should forego all those ‘Miss Stark’ and ‘sir’. I nearly called you that, in front of dad and Arya and Bran. So, it’s better if we just switch to first names, after all, what are they here for, if not to use them?” She waited for his nod before continuing. “So, Jon-gods it feels strange calling you that, I’m really not used to,” she laughed, more to herself than with him. _I’m not used hearing it either_ , he wanted to tell her, _by you or anyone else_. But he supposed that it’d stop sounding strange after a few more.

Sansa, now that would sound strange to him no matter how often he would say it.

“I was so tired last night that I forgot to tell you,” she said in a serious and wary tone, standing up and walking to her wardrobe, making him worry about what was on her mind, “and you were already gone this morning. I made you this,” she announced, swirling on the spot to face him once more, holding out a garment. “As you’re supposed to be my fiancé, I-I thought that,” she unfolded it, still talking and not meeting his eyes. It was a brown sweater with two black cable knits on the front. She was holding it out and he was too stunned to move. “I mean, my mother especially would find it weird if I never knitted you anything in six months! So, if you want to put it on someday, or just for a meal or something. It’s warm and- There. I hope you like it.”

She was nearly throwing it in his face when his throat opened enough to work. “I-I can’t accept,” he croaked out, his voice hoarse. His eyes kept darting between her face and the sweater, struggling to make sense of what she was saying and what she did. It probably took her hours to make this!

Why? Why would she do something like that?

She shook her head forcefully. “Just… take it. Please.”

He complied without more protesting, his mind still reeling. He… he’ll just wear it for the week and then he’ll give it back. Yes, he told himself, that settled it. “Thank you, Sansa,” he said, the name feeling as strange as he had expected it would.

But she smiled at him, declared “You’re welcome” as she visibly pulled herself back together before she left the room, the conversation obviously over. He stayed where he was standing for a moment longer, his lips cracking into a small smile.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> (And happy holidays!)

He’s wearing it, she noticed as soon as her boss- um, no, Jon stepped into the living room. She had fled the scene of crime as soon as he took the damned sweater, and had sought refuge in the sofa, between her big brother and Meera. News were broadcasted on the TV, but none of them were paying them much attention.

Meera stood up when she also noticed him enter and gestured that he could take her place before she plopped down on Bran’s lap, maneuvering so that her back rested against his wheelchair’s armrest. Jon settled down next to her, as close as Meera was, so that their thighs were nearly touching. The proximity made her reflexes kick in and she began to shuffle toward Robb before her brain reminded her that it would only look weird and she had to stop.

“How’s Minisa doing?” she asked her brother when she saw that he was texting his wife, in a last attempt to take her mind off things.

“A bit better. Tali thinks she might be able to go back to school on Thursday.”

“That’s good. You’ll kiss them for me, will you?”

“Um, yeah. Actually, I might have a favor to ask of you, if you don’t mind it…”

“Robb, don’t worry about it, I’ll find a solution,” her mom interrupted him as she passed behind them.

Sansa frowned, “What’s going on?”

“There’s no one to watch over Minisa Wednesday afternoon. Usually, it’s either me or Tali or mom, but I’ve already taken too much days off, Tali has her shift and mom’s got a thing at the city hall. If it’s not too much a bother, I know she’d be happy to see you.”

She bit her lip, turning to her boss with a plea in her eye. She saw he didn’t look opposed to the idea, a bit annoyed perhaps, but then he was always annoyed. “Done!” she exclaimed, turning back to her brother with a big smile on her face. She was already impatient to see her niece in person. Sansa made a mental note to go to Wintertown tomorrow and pick a little something for her.

The three of them turned their attention to the movie, and Sansa tried to immerse herself in the badly-played scenario of suspense in order to forget who was sitting right next to her. She was completely aware of her boss’ presence, and it somehow resulted in her being unable to relax and enjoy the moment with her family. He didn’t seem to have such qualms, though, she decided after discreetly observing him a moment and, even wearing a bit oversized handmade sweater – she didn’t have his measurements in her possession – he looked the same he did at work.

He behaved and talked the same, too. And that would quickly become a problem if it was not addressed soon. Her family knew her, and they would surely think something was amiss if he kept on behaving like a hermit Grumpy. Every man she had ever dated had been comely, charming and charismatic; Waymar, Loras, Harry, and even Joffrey and Devan – though some of the formers had been all for show and the latter’s had been more a flaw than a quality. Her parents had only met Waymar and Joffrey out of the five of them, so they both corresponded at what they expected her love interest to be.

Them, not a Jon Snow, and even more so when she’ll announce that she is going to marry him. They would want to know why, and she would have to know how to answer that. Her mother and younger brothers will be happy with a sincerely-sounding ‘I love him’, but her father, Robb and Arya were too protective for that. Every one of them remembered Joffrey all too well.

She had spent the last two days thinking about any quality she could find in her boss, as she was making him that sweater to keep up appearances. In fact, she had barely done anything else than this, and she had come up with nothing. Jon Snow was authoritarian, rude, stern, haughty and didn’t have a bone of sympathy in his body. In the three years that she had worked with him, he hadn’t tried to form a friendly relationship with her and had rebuffed each of her attempts to do so, he hadn’t made one effort to help her with her career, he hadn’t had a nice attention or thought about her. She wasn’t sure she had ever seen him smile, to anyone. He really was heartless.

Perhaps I really should switch his nickname from Grumpy to the bogeyman, she thought, chuckling internally. But her internal chuckling died as soon as the situation dawned on her again. Her family needed to believe that she was going to marry him.

Sansa took a deep breath discreetly through her nose and decided to start from scratch. First, it was good to be aware of her future ‘husband’s’ flaws. The City Watch would find it very strange if everything was only puppies and rainbows, she supposed. Second, no matter what everybody might think at AA, no one could be without one or two good traits. Even if they were really hidden deep, deep inside him, she amended when he didn’t even blink when the movie’s main protagonist finally found his daughter twenty years after she had been abducted. She started to think about how she could discover them in a week. That only brought one more problem to her mind: she didn’t know anything about him. Nothing, nada, zilch.

It surprised her, if she was honest. Well, she was aware that he never spoke more than what was absolute necessary, but still. Three years. It seemed strange that she hadn’t even gleaned one or two information here and there.

But that was a problem as well. They would have to answer a list of questions about each other in a week, and if they got something wrong, everything would have been for nothing. Her leaving Winterfell, her studies in the capital, her resignation, her last three years of work, her hardships, her doubts and her struggles – all for nothing if they didn’t start to get to know one another.

She suddenly wished they could be in her room, or alone somewhere so that they could start now. Against all odds, she found herself curious and eager to see a bit of the haughty air and cold facade crumble.

“Alright then, I got it,” Robb said, out of nowhere. “Don’t mind me, I’m just going to leave the two of you alone. You’ve been looking at him for an hour,” he added at her interrogative look, “you obviously want to tell him something.”

They all turned their attention on her, Arya chuckling lightly, Robb winking before going to sit at the table, Rickon rolling his eyes and her mother smiling fondly, and she felt the tip of her ears heat up.

Their hearts were in the right place, but she couldn’t start a get-to-know-you better in the middle of the living room. Still, she had to find an idea for even her boss was looking at her expectantly. “You…” she racked her brain for a subject. “I could show you Wintertown, tomorrow, since you said you’d like to see more of the North.” If she was honest, she had missed her birthland too, and would really enjoy walking around the village and fill her lungs with fresh air.

“My sister,” Arya said with a deadpanned voice, her eyebrows raising, “wanting to spend time outside. Where it’s cold and muddy and far from everything. Are you a wizard?” she asked Jon Snow, referring to the reasons Sansa had always cited in disfavor of the North, before she left for the south. But Jon Snow wouldn’t understand the reference, she figured as she internally winced. Jon Snow probably had no idea that she used to count the days before she would be able to leave for King’s Landing’s university.

Gendry elbowed her sister gently in the ribs before her boss could think of an answer to that. “Will you leave her alone?” He was laughing as he said it, so Sansa doubted it would have the desired affect – she doubted her sister would ever stop that, they loved riling each other too much.

“What? It’s true! She’s…” Gendry whispered something to her, then, and her protest died out. “Uh, I should’ve figured.” She mumbled before turning to their mother, loudly asking “When will we show him Sansa’s pictures, mom?”

Her mother’s face lighted up as Robb stood up, saying that he would go find the photo albums at once, maniacally snickering. Sansa tried to protest, but she knew deep-down that it was a lost cause. This was Arya’s vengeance for the time when she had been the one to introduce Gendry to her sister’s baby photos and embarrassing stories.

Except Gendry and her were already smitten at the time, while Jon Snow was her boss and had no business looking at her family photos. And when she risked a look at him, she saw that he didn’t look that much enthusiast having to do so either.

“MOM!” Robb’s voice came from the basement. “WHERE IS IT STOCKED? I CAN’T FIND SANSA’S!” Every one of them had their own album, in addition of the familial ones.

“Mom please let’s just… let’s just watch the movie.”

“No way! You showing these pictures was one of the most humiliating moment of my entire existence,” Arya immediately protested, “there’s no way you’re talking yourself away from it. Besides, I’m sure Jon here is just dying to see them! You’ll see,” she said to Jon Snow, “I’ve got tons and tons of fun stories about my sister, it’s gonna be glorious. She used to dress up in princesses and steal mom’s make up and tie ribbons everywhere. One time, we were picnicking in the woods and-”

“Wait ‘til the pictures are here!” Rickon interrupted her, looking way too excited to witness her embarrassment for her baby brother.

“Right,” Arya clapped when Robb came back up, still half-sniggering and carrying two thick photo albums in his arms. Because yes, Sansa had _loved_ having her photo taken. She usually didn’t mind the ritual either, even if it was funnier to be on the other side of the stories, having already went through with it twice – with Waymar and Joffrey. But Jon Snow was only her boss! He had no affection for her whatsoever!

“Come on, Arya. Don’t, please.”

Her mother tutted at that and everyone brought their chairs closer to the sofa, unmindful of her. Only Bran and Meera stayed where they were, too absorbed in one another to want to see old pictures of her.

“Sansa,” her boss murmured, calling her attention back on him. And yes, hearing him say her name instead of the infamous ‘Miss Stark’ was definitively strange. “If you don’t want me to see them, then I won’t.”

“Nooo! Don’t fall for it!”

“Really?” she whispered back, half-cautious and half in awe of what he was proposing.

“Yes,” he replied, his eyes narrowing a little as if he couldn’t figure her out.

She felt her lips part in surprise and a sentiment of gratitude grow in her chest. He was offering them an out. “Another time, then,” she told her family.

“What?” Arya cried out.

Her mother smiled so brightly that her cheeks must be sore. “Alright. But I’ll hold the both of you to it,” she warned, holding up a finger in jest.

“I’m counting on it, madam.”

“That’s not fair!” Arya complained to her boyfriend.

“It’s not.” He was shaking his head gravely, but his shoulders jolted with contained mirth.

“Why is she exempt from it and I wasn’t? I protested, but nobody listened! Wait… why didn’t you put an end to it when I protested?!”

“’Cause I wanted to see them.”

“But… but you should’ve been all… all…” She waved her hand in their direction. “That’s the nice thing to do!”

“Maybe I’m not nice, maybe I’m just a bastard.”

“You really are!” She yelled through her smile, throwing a cushion at his head, letting out a bark of laughter when it hit him square on the face.

“Thank you,” she murmured to her boss, to Jon. He gave her a small sheepish half-smile in response and followed everyone else as they turned their attention to the tv once more. And, once more, Sansa lost herself in her thoughts.

That, what just happened, that was unexpected. Almost… nice, as Arya had said. Now, she had to remember that he probably did it more for himself than for her, he was Jon Snow, after all. But still, she was pleasantly surprised that he would choose to side up with her.

“So are you okay for tomorrow?” She asked him distractedly, trying to find a way to send him in her room and follow a short while after, so that they could start going over the questions.

He looked back at her, his brows twitching and his right hand flexing in the way he kept doing it. At least, she couldn’t help but observe, she didn’t need to learn about his possible OCDs. She had no idea where that one came from, though, and about everything else, so they still needed to talk.

“What about it?”

It was her turn to frown slightly. “About seeing the North,” she reminded him. She briefly hoped he hadn’t said that just to please her father, but that was foolish thinking – he had no idea that it was something her dad would like hearing, right? “You never answered if you’d like to come with me. I have to run a few errands, but it won’t take long.”

“No, it’s alright. I need to buy a ring, anyway.”

“Oh, there’s a lovely jewelry shop in Wintertown, if you…” she interrupted herself, catching up on what he just said. “Um, why do you need one, if I may?”

He raised an eyebrow, “For you,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. To Sansa, it wasn’t. “People will find it suspicious if we say we are to be married and you’re not wearing any ring.”

“I’m wearing this one,” she furiously pointed out, still taking care to keep her voice down, waving her left hand discreetly. The lucky ring had not left her finger since the stupid fake proposal in the middle of the street. It was a gift from Brienne, not from her family. It was the perfect fake engagement ring for this fake marriage. She didn’t want a real one!

“That’s not an engagement ring.”

“It doesn’t matter. We can’t wait until tomorrow, anyway. I want to tell them tonight, when everybody’s here.”

“I don’t believe that this is the only moment where all your siblings will be here. We’re here for the whole week.”

Her eyes immediately narrowed at him, her heart starting to beat erratically. This was the first time she was able to snap back at him, and she wasn’t intending to let him win this round. “You promised, remember? If you’d rather not, then we’ll just go back to King’s Landing and make a stop at the City Watch,” she warned, her voice barely louder than a sigh. She enjoyed seeing his face turn white and his eyes gleam with fright. “At least I won’t have to tell this lie to my family.”

“Miss Stark-” Her name was nearly a growl, but she didn’t care. He could be angry all he wanted, she had the upper hand, not him. She held all the cards in her hand, he swore this, he knew this… and now he knew what would happen should he try to forget it.

“Nothing. I’m telling my family tonight. End of the discussion.”

She turned her upper body to face the television, making sure her face remained relaxed and at ease. He did the same after a moment, but he hadn’t calmed down. She could clearly see the throbbing vein at his temple and contraction of the muscles of his arms where he had roll up his sleeves, even in the dimming light of the end of the afternoon.

At least the signs of her anger were better hidden, though she could still feel them. Her erratic breathing and the loud thumping of her heart were proofs that she had won, and she relished in the taste of it. He deserved that, she knew it. He deserved everything she fancied throwing at him.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright now that the happy-fluffy time of Christmas/New Year/holidays (Happy New Year to everyone, by the way!) has passed, I can post this new chapter!  
> Please don't be too angry at me 😉!
> 
> Enjoy!

She had wondered during the whole meal when was the appropriate moment to make her announcement, but it was nearly the end, and she still hadn’t said anything.

Jon Snow was sat across from her, just as he was for brunch, and he had barely lifted his gaze from his plate. He was still cross at her, that much was obvious. But she wouldn’t feel sorry for him, and she would announce that fake wedding when it suited her.

“Sansa, a bit of wine?” Her dad asked, a small scowl forming on his face when she shook her head. 

She will announce it right now, she decided as she inhaled loudly, making the conversations die down as everyone turned to listen to her. Her boss’ head jerked up, his eyes narrowed, but she paid him no mind. Instead, her eyes found her mother’s and she drew confidence from it. _I’m doing it for them, too_ , she reminded herself, _so that they’ll stop worrying I’ll spend my life alone._ She took off Brienne’s ring and put it in her pocket, hoping this little step in his direction would be enough to bury the hatchet and have a serious discussion tonight. They needed to.

“There’s something you have to know.” Around her, some faces started to show the beginning of the reaction their owners would have at her words. It sounded a bit formal, perhaps too much, but then it was not for real. She would prepare a real speech, one with wobbly smiles and happy tears for her real marriage. This one didn’t deserve more than the bare minimum. “Jon and me,” she threw a quick look at her boss, willing him to look at least a bit happy, “we’re getting married.”

She saw her dad open his mouth, but her mom interrupted him before he could say anything, “Oh Sansa,” she said in a breath, her eyes welling. She was relieved, happy and relieved, just as Sansa had predicted. “We’re so happy for you. This is such a wonderful news.”

She stood up to return her mother’s embrace and they both relished in those glorious moments clutching at the other. Sansa had missed her so much, and she felt as if she hadn’t spent enough time with her today.

“You love him,” her sister half-asked, half-declared, after Gendry, Bran, Rickon and her father had offered their congratulations. All looked surprised, some hid it better than others, but Robb and Arya looked more suspicious than happy.

“I do,” she lied. She put all her assurance and all her confidence in those two words and the smile that came with them, and her brother nodded, content with her answer.

Arya wasn’t, though. “And you,” she said in the same tone, turning her head at Jon Snow.

He had his business-dinner face on, the carefully constructed expression of ease, confidence and happiness that fooled future clients as well as companies’ leaders. She saw her mother relax, too, unconsciously mimicking the posture he showed to the world. Was she the only one that saw the deceptiveness in it? That would feel the tension emanating from his smile and hear the uncomfortable little sighs?

She didn’t know if she was relieved or disappointed that her family didn’t saw it, just as countless business partners and clients hadn’t before them.

“Of course. Had I not been certain of it, I would’ve never asked. It’s not something one says without meaning it with every fiber of his being.”

“Really? You think that?” Sansa could perfectly imagine what Arya’s face looked like when she asked those questions. It was something she could have said herself, and her siblings would have teased her silly for it.

“Um, aye.” She prevented herself from rolling her eyes at that. She had no idea when or how, but he must have heard her gushing about romantic lines or complain about their absence in her love life, and somehow decided that now would be the perfect moment to say one. It worked, she had to admit it did, seeing her mother beaming and her brothers, mainly Bran, cast approving smiles at her and her father nod to himself.

“Okay, I think I’m starting to see it,” Arya claimed, as if she had just decided of the veracity of her words.

“See what?” Sansa asked at the same time her boss said, “What do you mean?”, making all her family chuckle lightly or grin even more wildly. She thought she even heard Meera aww a little, but she couldn’t be sure.

“Why she said yes!”

_I know why I agreed to this_ , she wanted to say then, shout it even. _So I could come see you, all of you, and because it was the only way of not being fired by Mr Baratheon over something that was not my fault. That’s it. You’re all reading it all wrong! How could it ever be otherwise? Mr Snow and I are not together. Why wasn’t it obvious?_

Instead, only one word escaped her. “Really?” She immediately wanted to clasp both her hands over her mouth and bang her head on the table – perhaps even in the lemon cake her father had made specially for her when her boss didn’t lose a second before he cleared his throat and shot her a disbelieving look from behind his hand.

Oblivious to that, her sister launched herself in the explanation of her recent… discovery. “Well, first you don’t look at all like I’ve pictured you – like we’ve all pictured you, thanks to dear Sansa’s as always imaginative description. No black horns, no smoke, no fangs, you don’t look like the devil incarnate or Grumpy. I must say you’re almost a disappointment.” She cackled as Sansa felt herself grow pale. _Shit, shit, shit!_ She usually wasn’t one for swearing, but this time the situation called for it. She had no want of her boss hearing all the things she said about him during those past years. She didn’t know why she thought her siblings wouldn’t mention it or allude to it.

She braced herself for Mr Snow’s reaction. She tried to stop biting her tongue, to stop curling over herself, the way she used to, before she left. “Arya!” she protested, more feebly than she would have liked. Mr Snow’s face, when she mustered enough courage to look at it, was impassible.

“Oh, come on! Everyone here knows about your tendency to always exaggerate. And, it’s not as if it was a secret that it wasn’t love at first sight for the two of you.”

“Still, don’t…”

“And well, you seem to like this fluffy-sappy stuff as much as she does. I’m just saying that.” Her voice had lost its playfulness for the last bit, and Arya looked softly up at her, “it’s, um, good. I never imagined you with anyone else, so, yeah. Here’s that.”

“Thank you,” she replied, the words leaving a bitter aftertaste in her mouth that even the lemon couldn’t overcome. It meant nothing, she reassured herself, her little sister was just being polite. When Sansa will bring home a real fluffy-sappy, romantic and kind fiancé, her family will see, and Jon Snow will be forgotten or dismissed for the cold and rude man he is. He will be a mistake.

The rest of the evening passed, uneventful, and soon Robb left to go back to his wife and daughter, a promise to let Sansa announce the good news to them in person, followed by Arya and Gendry and Bran and Meera. Rickon had last-minute decided that he wouldn’t go back to the flat he shared with other students in the city center, preferring sleeping in his childhood bed. Apparently, it was something he often did, during the week-ends. Sansa had felt scrutinized by her father several times during the evening, but even as they wished each other good night, he had said nothing.

She had readied herself for bed in silence, as her boss did the same just after her, as they had done just the previous evening.

Except this one, we’ll have to discuss the questions, she reminded herself as she absentmindedly listened to him brush his teeth. She wondered if it felt as awkward for him as it did for her, before quickly dismissing the idea. This was Jon Snow she was thinking about, all feelings such as happiness and embarrassment were probably deemed a waste of time for him. She was sure even brushing his teeth was considered a waste of time.

He had unrolled his sleeping back on the floor when she had been in the bathroom, since she had hidden it in under her bed this morning, and it occurred to her that she hadn’t mentioned it to him. “Did you find it easily enough?” She asked when he came back in her bedroom, the first words she said to him since her little threat of this afternoon. Perhaps that was why her voice sounded so harsh to her own ears, it had automatically fallen back to its previous setting, even without her being aware of it.

He grunted an affirmative answer – at least she figured it was an affirmative one – as he prepared a bag of clothes.

“Do you plan on going on a run tomorrow, too?” She willed her voice to lose some of its edge. She knew it would serve nothing to go on that track. Besides, she had won that round: her family knew tonight, and there was nothing he could have done to prevent her from doing so.

He gave her the same answer, and she let go of any pretention. Small-talk wouldn’t work with him, she didn’t know why she still tried to make it different. She leant over her bed to grab her handbag, where the fascicle was, and found it only after a bit of rummaging around.

“We need to go over those,” she announced-whispered as she sat cross-legged on top of her bed blanket, setting herself for hours of work. She had a pen at hand, ready to note important points on the notebook she had bought specially for this… task. “Let’s begin with… after school activities,” she decided, finding the subject impersonal enough to ease them into the most… personal ones. “What clubs were you part of?”

“None,” was the curt answer to her cheerful question. Her boss sat on his bedroll, not even facing her, busy folding his clothes and searching for his phone charger.

“Well, I had dance lessons twice a week from elementary to high school, I started learning harp and bells in middle school, and I joined the sept’s choir when I was ten.” She looked for another question, trying not to notice that he didn’t try to appear even remotely interested in what she just said. She knew that it wasn’t the most interesting thing for others to know about her, but they _had to_ go through this.

“What about the religion? Which gods do you follow?” She thought he might be a follower of the new gods, or perhaps the faith of R’hollor, as so many members of AA had converted to. Besides, if he was Essosi…

“None.”

She held back an annoyed sigh, instead opting for pressing her lips in a thin line during the time it would take for her frustration to recede. Why wasn’t he making the task easier?

“When did we move in together?”

“You can decide.”

“What’s our favorite spot to meet at?”

“I don’t care.”

“What do we usually do after a day at work?”

“Whatever you prefer.”

Alright then, two can play at that game, she huffed in exasperation, but made no comment. She wasn’t going to let it get on her nerves, no matter if he might think it was the solution to make her stop talking. But meanwhile, she would stop minding his possible reservations. “Who are your closest friends?”

“It’s not one of the questions,” he immediately pointed out, almost glaring accusingly at her as if she had tried to trick him or something.

“It’s still something I should know.”

“I don’t have any,” he barked at her. He was opening the sleeping bag, obviously wanting the conversation to be over.

“I don’t believe it. Everyone has friends.” _Even people like you_ went unsaid, but judging by his eyes rolling, he had heard it nonetheless.

“Not me. That shouldn’t be such a surprise to you, Miss Stark.” If her boss was ever capable of emotions, she was sure he would have said that sentence as dismissively and condescendingly as he could. “Are you done already?”

“Tell me some names, it’s not like I care!”

She thought she could count on the finger of one hand the times she had seen him as incensed at her, in all the time they’ve known… they’ve worked with each other. “It’s not one of the questions!”

Gods, it was like she was talking to a wall! “Give me names,” she whispered furiously. She wanted nothing else but shout at him at the top of her lungs, but she was still aware that the house was sleeping, and her parents and little brother were all persuaded they were living in domestic bliss. “Or else I’ll just tell Janos Slynt and the whole of King’s Landing exactly what’s going on.”

“You swore you wouldn’t-”

“Give me names, then. It can’t be complicated to remember some childhood comrades, can it? Or were you so yourself already that everybody detested you?”

That silenced him for a while – which wasn’t the reaction she was aiming for, at all, but it allowed her to calm herself a bit. “Just…” he said, sighing loudly, “write Stannis, Melisandre, Alester and Davos on your little notebook and leave it.”

“You despise Melisandre and Alester Florent.”

“Is the interrogation over?”

“It’s not an-” she protested but interrupted herself in the face of his tired expression. “How are we supposed to know how to answer to those things, if we never speak?”

“It doesn’t have to be here and now. We already did a few ones, it’s enough for tonight.” He laid down on the ground, muttering a “Good night, Miss Stark.”

The promise to only use each other’s first name hadn’t lasted long, she realized as she rewound their conversation. but then, his behavior didn’t make her want to be more familiar with him that was strictly necessary. “Good night, sir,” she still found herself answering, switching off the lights and burying herself under her covers.

Even where she laid, she could hear the long sigh her boss let out when the room turned dark. As she snuggled up in her cool bed, trying to find the most comfortable position to fall asleep, she briefly acknowledged that she would need to find another solution to find more information about Jon Snow, because it appeared that he wouldn’t follow the easiest path.

Thankfully, that last thought didn’t prevent her from sleeping like a log, and she woke up on Monday morning, sprawled in the middle of her bed, her bedroom already vacant from her other occupant.

She took a few seconds to understand that, for all her good sleep of the night, she hadn’t woken up on her own. Her muddled eyes took notice of the handle of her door slowly turning and a woman’s voice saying “Sansa?” on the other side before they went immediately on the sleeping arrangements still laying on her floor.

She felt her heart lurch in her mouth and she threw herself on the ground, wincing at the impact her skin made with the hard floor. She hastily pushed the sleeping bag and makeshift pillow under her bed, just in time before her mother fully opened her door and stepped inside her bedroom.

“Sansa?” she softly asked once more, her brows furrowing slightly when she remarqued the unusually messy state of Sansa’s bed, and her absence inside it. “Are you in the bath- What are doing on the floor?” She blurted when she saw her.

Her heartbeat was only slowly receding at the fear of being caught not sharing her bed with her supposed-fiancé, but Sansa willed herself to come up with a reasonable excuse. Even when she had barely gotten out of sleep. “I heard you knocking, and I tripped over the blankets in my haste of going to the door.”

Her mom smiled fondly and helped her stand up. “You didn’t hurt yourself, I hope.”

Sansa shook her head while internally marveling at how much of a close call this turned out to be. What would she had told her mom if she hadn’t had such swift reflexes?

“Jon is ready to leave, but I remembered you wanted to show him Wintertown and that you needed to run some errands. It’d be best if you went together, I thought. He’s waiting for you downstairs.”

She thanked her mom for waking her up and quickly dressed up in some of her warmest clothes. The prospect of walking around the streets of her childhood was enough to put a smile on her face, even forgetting a bit the heated discussion she had with her boss and his stupid idea of a fake engagement ring.

He had woken up on his own, just like he had done the day before, and had readied himself without her being aware of it. Sansa wondered how he did it; she couldn’t be silent for the life of her in the mornings. She figured that he must have to ready everything before going to bed – well, to bedroll, she amended – and that he needed to forego everything he couldn’t easily grab in passing. Like this, she thought as she unplugged her phone and his and put the both of them in her bag. Anyway, he succeeded in not waking her, so that was thoughtful of him, at least.

He was indeed waiting for her at the end of the stairs, bundled in running clothes and looking rugged and barely awake. He was kneading the back of his neck and not paying any attention to her, or how this simple action made her steps falter a moment, as a realization dawned onto her.

“We can’t keep on,” she murmured to him once she was close enough to not have to raise her voice too much, “you in the sleeping bag and me in my bed.” She sighed, already dreading what was going to happen. They hadn’t discussed the sleeping arrangements, before, and he had come up with the idea of the sleeping bag on his own, but she had been relieved that he’d thought of it and not just assumed that she would welcome him in _her bed_. “I take the right side of my bed,” she quickly announced before jumping for the door, but not before noticing his eyes grow wide with understanding and his mouth open in protestation.

She was out before he could speak a word, though.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!
> 
> ...

The short drive to Wintertown was spent in tense silence, but at least she had the road to concentrate to, instead of being left to mull over her thoughts as she would have, had she sat on the passenger side.

Were it with literally anyone else, she would have engaged the conversation, enquire about their sleep or even comment on the weather. But she was still pissed at her boss for the previous day, and he seemed to display the same feeling toward her. He hadn’t uttered a word of apology to her, made a move to answer the questions and had his face of the bad days on. There was no way she would spend her morning with him, she decided as she parked her mother’s car, all urges to show him around forgotten.

Sansa grabbed her purse and angrily pulled her beanie more tightly over her ears before she had to leave the relatively warm inside of the car. She should have knitted him one of these, now that she thought about it, instead of an entire sweater. It would’ve been easier and faster. “Let’s meet here at one,” she crisply declared, figuring that four hours would be more than enough for him to do whatever he wanted to do and for her to calm down enough to play happiness and love convincingly enough. “Eat, before.” There was no way she would eat alone with him, she added to her mental list, not when she could do without.

“Wait!” Her boss cried out when she had started walking away from him. “For the ring. Wh-” Right, the ring. She started to indicate the way to the jeweler, but he interrupted her. “No. What sort do you want?” He grumpily asked, as if her very presence was getting on his nerves.

_I don’t care_ she wanted to tell him, the way he had told her yesterday. But that wasn’t completely true, was it? She did care about this fake ring for this fake marriage, and not just a little. An engagement ring was a big deal, something important, something to be cherished. It was the physical representation of her future husband’s love. She must look at it and be in awe of it. It must be love at first sight.

She had pictured what she wanted for her engagement ring since she was a child. A sparkling ring, old-timey, in rose gold, with diamonds and a beautiful stone in its center, a tourmaline or an amethyst.

In her consideration, she had also discovered what she didn’t want. “A white ring – the simplest you can find will do – white gold or silver, it doesn’t matter. No rose gold, though. With a red or a blue stone, if they have. Take that, for the size,” she told him, handing her lucky ring over to him. She sometimes wore it on her ring finger, and it fitted without problem. “I’ll see you later.”

On that, she nodded to him and finally walked away, to the store where she remembered wanting to go every time she was in town, when she had been a little girl. Surely, she’ll find something for Minisa there, too.

She wandered between the store shelves, smiling brightly. She hoped Jon Snow would follow her instructions and pick a ring she’d find as ugly and boring as she imagined. She had succeeded saving that magical moment for later, when it would happen for real. She would do the same for the rest, she decided, the food and the music and her dress.

Oh gods, her dress! The unbidden thought made her steps falter as she approached the part of the costume jewelry. She also had ideas for her wedding dress in her head, but unlike for the ring, she had never thought about what she disliked about it. Her picture of the perfect dress had changed with the years passing – a bustier or no, white or ecru, lot of tulle or no – so she couldn’t be sure that what was less pleasing to her now would remain that way when it’d be time for her to marry for real!

She abruptly turned around, barely missing bumping into somebody, her mind reeling over the problem of the dress and the problem of her boss’ stubbornness. She nearly ran to the only wedding dress store of the city, intending to pick up their magazine and leave immediately after.

That wasn’t including her childhood best friend Jeyne Poole, who noticed her coming toward the store from the other side of the street and was ready to welcome her properly since then.

They stood in the half-opened front door, hugging each other for what seemed like hours. Jeyne babbled about the latest news, believing this was merely a social visit. Finally, Sansa asked what her friend was doing here.

“Palla is getting married! Don’t you remember, I told you about it, last time.”

“Right!” Palla had been a classmate when they were children, and Jeyne and she had often played with her. Apparently, the two of them had stayed in touch over the years, though it was way easier to do so when one didn’t live on the other side of a continent. “It’s for next month, if I remember correctly?”

“Yeah, this is the final fitting. Poor girl burst into tears when she got out from the changing room,” her friend looked pointedly at her, and with that Sansa was reminded of her suspicions. “But never mind. You’re here! I’ve heard you’re staying for a week, right? We need to see when we could meet.”

“You’re going to Old Nan’s nameday? I’ll be there the whole day. Other than that…” And well, Sansa could admit that she didn’t really want to have to introduce her boss as her future husband to Jeyne. It was already enough that she had to do so with her family.

“Sansa! We’re not hanging out for the first time in bleeding years on a centenarian nameday! No, no... You know what,” she declared after a small pause to think, “I’ll call you when I think of something. You’re not doing anything special on the nights, right?”

“No, I’m not.” Sansa swallowed with difficulty, but thankfully Jeyne didn’t seem to notice it. She worried about her best friend knowing about her own impeding marriage – she had only announced it to her family on the previous evening, but her family was well-known in Wintertown and Winterfell alike, and news could spread faster than wildfire – but Jeyne didn’t mention it.

“Good. I’ll plan something, you’ll just have to show up. It’ll probably be on Wednesday or Thursday.”

“Friday is Old Nan’s nameday,” Sansa reminded her. “And it wouldn’t do to turn up hangover for that.”

Jeyne hushed her, her brown eyes already looking into the distance and planning who and how and where and when and what. “Yeah,” she finally said, smiling resolvedly to herself. “I’ll text you,” she added as she immediately took her phone out and started typing frantically.

Sansa breathed out a laugh and grabbed one magazine, quickly squeezing her protesting friend into a hug before leaving her to her planning and texting. Her next stop would be the dry goods store, she decided, she would make her niece a beanie. She had two days before seeing her, now that would be enough time to knit it. After all, she only had two days to make her boss’ sweater from scratch, and she achieved that.

She heaved a loud sigh of relief when she finally sat down, in a single table at Gage’s famous dinner, after two hours of walking up and down Wintertown’s streets. Several bags were scattered around her, proof of her busy morning. She had ordered a peas and onions pie and dove into her plate as soon as it was brought. Her mind immediately wandered back on the question of Jon Snow’s stubbornness as she munched, wondering what she was supposed to do, now.

It had kept doing so for the whole morning, turning her angrier and surlier than she had any right to be. The fact that it happened when she was back with her family, for the first time in so long, only fueled her resentment toward the subject that wouldn’t leave her mind. No matter how long she had thought about it, she hadn’t found a solution, though. Except directly demanding answers until he stopped being so defensive and spoke clearly.

Her vibrating phone raised her from her thinking and unblinking stare and she one-handedly rummaged in her handbag. An unknown smooth object briefly appeared under her fingers making her frown as she finally found her phone and she picked it up without looking who was calling.

“Hello?” she said, grabbing for her bag so that she could actually see what was inside that she didn’t recognize by touch.

“And here she is! Our dear, very much _absent_ , favorite assistant!” Denys Redwyne practically shouted in her ear, making her startle. “Wait, I’m putting you on speaker. Shireen’s here, too.”

“Hi guys!” Sansa absentmindedly greeted them, putting her bag on her lap when she still couldn’t find it.

“So, talk to us! We’re dying to know here!” Shireen’s voice whined after a moment of silence. “Dad’s been close-lipped about everything!”

“I’m at Winterfell.”

“Huh huh. You’re not getting away with it. Devan Seaworth said you were there, too. So, tell us! What was it like to watch him crumble? Devan said he cried!”

“I bet it was awesome, especially for you. Serves him right, after everything he did to you. What a dick.”

Sansa stopped her search, opting to follow the conversation instead, because Denys and Shireen were both speaking nonsense to her, right now. “Wait, wait, wait. What are you talking about?”

“Snow!” They both yelled in unison, before dissolving in a fit of giggles. She thought she heard Shireen said that “She already forgot all about him… The wonders of leave!” but she couldn’t be sure, so she made no comment of it.

“What about him?” she softly asked, feeling her throat constrict. If they knew about the fake marriage and…

“Snow fucked up with Salladhor Saan, like big time, and dad’s livid about it. Devan said that dad’s looking for someone to replace him. Some said that he’s thinking about moving uncle Alester from finance to marketing,” she continued, unaware that with those words, Sansa’s face had paled drastically, and her heart had started beating erratically against her ribcage. “You know how dad doesn’t like marketing, and well, my uncle’s been talking about it more and more and…”

“I only know that I’d rather work for Alester Florent than Snow,” Denys commented. “No need to think about it.”

“We thought you knew it. That’s probably why you could take your week off. Devan said that dad sent Snow in Essos right away, to… talk, I suppose, with some blood-relation of… who was it, Denys? Ah yes, some girl named Daenerys Targaryen. Isn’t it great, Sansa?”

Sansa was shaking her head slowly, half-stunned that Mr Baratheon was still considering Jon Snow’s – and therefore hers, too – dismissal when they were doing everything to ‘have the matter settled’, and half-surprised that such a nonsensical story could spread within the firm.  
Jon Snow, screwing up with a super-important conference call, there was no way this could ever happen. Besides, she had worked on that case, too, and not a little. She didn’t want ‘someone’ to come at the last second and reap all the rewards of their hard work to build relations between the two firms.  
All in all, nothing about it was ‘great’. “I… I have to go,” she forced the lie past the lump in her throat. “My dad’s calling me.”

She barely listened to their wishes of good time and mock-lamentations at being stuck at work before she hung up on them. The discussion had made her frenetically nervous, and she scrambled for something to hold on. Her fingers closed around the smooth surface and she pulled a phone out of her purse. She sat puzzled over the object, recognizing it but not be being able to point out where exactly she saw…

This was Jon Snow’s phone, she figured out abruptly. Sansa sighed deeply: her last hour of peace away from her boss and his awful mood was just crumbling under her eyes. She’ll have to find him and give it back – the way she had planned to do this morning, she recalled. But she had barely been awake, still angry about last night and her adrenaline up from her mom’s nearly discovery. He probably was eating, she thought as she finished her pie, the phone laying innocently next to hers on the table.

The idea came to her unsolicited. She dismissed it immediately, of course. She wasn’t going to step so low.

But the more she thought about it – _remember last night and remember that it’s Jon Snow you’re talking about_ – the more she eyed the plain looking phone next to hers, the angrier she got. After all, her job was on the line, too, and nothing would have happened if it weren’t for him. She was filled with a strong sense of righteousness. _I hold all the cards, here_ , she reminded herself once more.

Thus, she grabbed forcefully her boss’ phone and immediately turned the screen on, before she could change her mind or shy away. He hadn’t bothered to change the security since the last time she had to fetch his phone for him, and so she quickly acceded to the actual contents.

She didn’t snoop around – she wasn’t interested in searching for his last internet searches or his favorite games. She opened the texts app straight away and was only slightly stunned that, beside messages to Mr Seaworth and Mr Baratheon, there was nothing. No texts, no mails, no pictures.

Sansa let out a disbelieving laugh at that. He truly was nothing besides his work, was he? Was nothing, had no one. She had trouble putting her head around such an idea, but it didn’t surprise her that much. Denys said it constantly: Jon Snow is a dick, and a part of her was glad that the rest of the world was aware of that and had stayed clear from him.

Other people didn’t need people like him in their life, Sansa knew it firsthand, even if it had taken her years to realize that for herself.

Half-heartedly, she still scrolled through his contact list that was neatly organized. Her own number could be found under the subfolder ‘AA’, there was another with ‘House’ with the plumber’s or various take-outs, and multiple others with former clients and their firms. She recognized all of them – ‘309Argul’, a firm directed by Hubard Rambton, was a project they had worked together nearly two years ago; same for ‘311Cider Hall’, with Tanton Fossoway as the company’s representant – except one, bearing a name she couldn’t place.

A small and victorious smile appeared on her face, though, when she pressed on ‘998SqNW’ and a list of names appeared. Those names were different, she noticed. Instead of every contact being a small CV of the concerned person, with first and second names, surnames, the firm they worked for, with their personal number, their professional email address, the ones under that subfolder only had one name, associated with only one number each.

_Albett, Dareon, Edd, Grenn, Halder, Jeren, Pyp, Sam, Sigorn, Todder, Tormund._

Sansa wrote those eleven names down on her notebook. They were different than the others, she could feel it. _Who are you?_ she wanted to ask, but the phone held no answer for her. There was no mention of any of them anywhere else but in that subfolder. She would have to ask her boss directly, she shrugged as she stood up.

She walked back to her mother’s car and settled herself in the driver’s seat. She turned on the radio and lost herself in the blaring notes, staring out of the windshield. Those, at least, were loud enough to drown everything else. She felt giddy with the little progress she had made on her own; she had names, more than he would have ever told her, even under torture she was sure of it. She was ahead of the game, once more.

The smile she gave him when he sat down next to her was perhaps a bit too boastful, judging by the look he threw her, but she allowed herself to savor it. She knew it would put him on edge, especially since she didn’t utter a word during the drive back.

The house was empty, her mom having left a note in the kitchen telling her that she would spend the afternoon with some friends in the library and that there were leftovers of lunch in the fridge, should she or Jon be hungry.

That was good, she thought, they will make the most of it by sitting down and go over the questions. Her boss had hurried upstairs as soon as he had entered, but she planned on cornering him as soon as he would step outside her bathroom. She wrinkled her nose at the thought that he had stayed in running clothes for all this time as she paced in her room, waiting for him to be done.

She plastered the same victorious grin when he walked out of the bathroom, dressed in normal clothes, took out her notebook when he neatly folded his dirty ones and put them in his suitcase with the bedroll.

“I found thi-” he said, turning to face her, his hand holding something. He had interrupted himself when she started reading the list of names she’d written.

When she lifted her gaze to him, one eyebrow delicately raised up and glowing at his confounded posture, she kept on her smile, fighting against letting it widen. “Who are they?” she demanded, once the list reached its end.

She saw him start to make himself look small, almost curling over himself and shrinking from her, his gaze fixed on a point somewhere on her floor before he shook his head and refocused himself when she cleared her throat impatiently and, yes, also a bit annoyingly. He was taking his sweet time to answer, Sansa noted, but she wouldn’t let him win this round the way she had done yesterday.

“How do you know about them?” His voice was barely more than a mumble, seethed between clenched teeth, that she had to strain to hear properly.

She waved her hand dismissively, “I forgot to give you your phone back this morning.” He was trying to change the subject, again. “Doesn’t matter. Yesterday, you told me that-”

“You went to look in my phone?”

“Oh, come on, what does it matter?” She rolled her eyes, half at his over-the-top reaction and half at the discussion going in circle.

“You can’t do- I mean you…” He stayed flagger-basted at that, his arms outstretched and his eyes and mouth wide open. It was the more emotional she had ever seen him. And all this over a list of names.

Then, his face switched to pure anger, and she was the one who found herself speechless and immobile as he vented out. She became aware that if she thought Mr Snow was sometimes incensed, it was the first time she saw him that furious. And this time, it was toward her. “…ely unbelievable!” He was breathing heavily, pacing back and forth in the small space between her wall, the door leading to the bathroom and her bed. “Do I really _bleeding_ ,” First time she heard him swear, too, “need to point out that this is part of what you _can’t_ do?” He threw something on her bed, so forcefully that it bounced twice and made her jump. He tightened his newly empty hand into a fist. “Give it back,” he ordered as he slammed his closed first in the palm of his hand, the sound of flesh hitting flesh making her body tremble.

She opened her mouth, stammered “I… I…” in a breath, but he didn’t look as if he had heard her.

“What?” he sharply asked, proving her wrong.

“I only did it because you always refuse to talk,” she said, her voice turning stronger with each word as she berated herself for feeling like she needed to justify her action. “Because of the questions! You never answer them and-”

“And you thought that gave you the right to go through my things?”

“I need to know things like that, sir.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Since we’re getting married, we-”

He interrupted her once more, “We’re not! I don’t know what you’ve been imagining but it’s not real. None of this is!”

Sansa felt tears pricking her eyes and blurring the edge of her vision. Nothing was going as she had planned. He was the one supposed to apologize and justify his conduct. He was the one in the wrong. He was the villain in the story, not her! “I know that.” And here she was, nearly crying in front of him, huddled in a corner and cowering at the slightest noise like a scared little mouse when she had _promised_ to herself that she wouldn’t let him dictate anything. “It’s not as if I care, anyway. And,” she added in a last desperate attempt to cling onto her dominance of the situation, “judging by what I saw, it’s not like anyone else does either.”

She was relieved of the amount of contempt she had injected in her tone, and the effect it had on him. In three strides, he was on her, all hurt washed away from his features, so quickly she was sure she had imagined it happening in the first place. This is Jon Snow you’re thinking about, after all, she reminded herself. They were standing face to face, her greater height balancing his greater strength.

“Give it back.”

She drew in a long breath. “Only if you tell me who they are.”

“I won’t.”

“Nor I, then.”

Her refusal made his lips twist in an ugly snarl. “I don’t have time to play childish games with you,” he spat at her, so brutally it made her flinch and her eyes widen in fright despite herself.

She saw his own widen in retaliation before he took a step back and looked himself in her purse for his phone. Then, after a last angered look at her that clearly meant ‘back off’, he left her alone in her room. Sansa felt her breath catch in her throat and one hand shot out to her desk, its flat and solid surface grounding her.

She took a few steps toward her bed, but the dark red box haphazardly thrown onto the covers made her stop. She felt her heartbeat increase and her cheeks heat, despite willing it not. Taking a deep breath, her teeth clenched so hard it was hurting her and her chin lifted so high she couldn’t see the floor anymore, she abruptly opened it, taking great care of having her features schooled in the blandest look possible. She was… glad for it. It was a simple ring, dull and she didn’t care much for topaz.

It wasn’t love at first sight.

Sansa put it on and then busied herself with taking out everything she had purchased, not paying attention to the sound of hurried steps going down the stairs or the front door closing. No, not one bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> (and don't hate me too much?)

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Don't hesitate to tell me what you've thought of this :)


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